Holding Onto The Future
by autumn sparrow
Summary: Stranded on Earth, the Autobots contend with allies and enemies that they can't always tell apart. Secrets threaten to unravel everything Prime has struggled for and a lone femme is caught in the fallout. AU. OC-centric. Sequel to Finding Salvation
1. Chapter 1

_**Beta Read: **_by **Benjamin Bradt**. Actually I think half of the words in this chapter are his. He took some rough, half thought out writing and polished into a gem. He deserves most of the credit for the prelude, without him this would read very differently. I don't know if I should list him as a co-author or not, but I do owe him a huge amount of thanks. Thank you Ben.

_**Rating: **_M for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, occasional mech eroticism.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**Author's Note: **_Very OC centric. Pairings are Optimus Prime x OC, Ratchet x Wheeljack. If you haven't read "Finding Salvation", you may be a little lost; I have attempted to fill in some of the back-story to help avoid confusion. The events occur immediatly after "Finding Salvation". Started July 11, 2008.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Prelude**_

_**XxxX.**_

To say, "It was the day the Earth stood still" would be a cliché, but that was the most fitting description. It was the day human kind learned a truth known only to a privileged few; that there was other intelligent life in the far reaches of space, that that aliens were walking the Earth.

Eight mechanoids and two humans gathered around a large plasma TV to watch the President of the United States address the world. Their future was precariously placed in his hands. It wasn't fear that permeated the room, but a nervous tension. They desperately wanted to secure a place on the small planet; a place to truly call home.

The television showed a rumpled, weary man stepping up to a podium. He was aged well beyond his years by the stresses of his office; his brown hair had turned almost white, his once youthful face bore the creases of too many sleepless nights, the boyish joviality replaced with a parental worry for a child gone to war. Endless worry and the pressures of protecting the free world had taken its toll, evident in the haunted look in his eyes, and the trembling of his hands as he shuffled the pages before him.

"He looks old," Mikaela commented.

"Leadership can be a heavy burden," replied a towering mech. His gaze never veered from the display as he crossed his arms, posture heavy with pensive anticipation. Nearby, a small femme turned her summer green optics to the Autobot commander; concern for the mech showed openly on her face, but she said nothing.

"People of the United States . . . and of the world," began the President's somber oration. "I come before you today, not as the leader of a powerful nation, but as a fellow man. I have been entrusted with informing all of humanity the truth surrounding certain . . . events that have occurred recently. What I am about to say will shake many beliefs to their foundations and question what we call the truth; it will force us to re-evaluate ourselves, and our species. However, we have a chance to make a new place in the universe; to make a better place for our children, and our children's children." The exhausted figure cleared his throat dryly, continuing, "As a species, we have endured almost impossible odds to become the dominant life form on this planet. We have suffered through much adversity; be it natural disasters beyond our control, or wars waged in the pursuit of personal freedoms, and through it all the human spirit has proven itself indomitable. It is that same indomitability that makes me confident that we shall overcome this too, and prosper as we always have."

The president fell silent again, staring blankly at the typed pages before him. His personal staff had labored for hours over what the leader of the country would say when he addressed the entire world with his news, but now, under the blinding lights and the scrutiny of the world's population, the words seemed hollow and insincere, unfitting and, dare say, robotic. He set the speech aside and took a drink from his glass, wishing it were something stronger than water as he mustered courage he never knew he had. "What I am about to say is shocking and frightening; I implore you to remain steadfast and brave, but mostly, open-minded. Our tiny, blue planet has been visited by a species that is both intelligent and superior to us. They are among us now; watching, waiting, praying that we will reward their boldness with friendship and good will. I have come before you to tell you that we are not alone."

The planet held its breath as the revelation rippled through humanity. Every man, woman and child was standing in the Threshold of The Ages. Would humanity move forward and embrace its new place in the cosmos, or would there be a fearful retreat backwards to hide from the inevitable future?

Hidden below ground, mere miles from the smoldering battlefield, eight mechaniods and two humans waited to see which way the world would step.

_**XxxX.**_

Please read and review. No really, review. I can't improve without honest criticism.


	2. Rage and Reason

_**Rating: **_M for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, occasional mech eroticism.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**Beta read by: **_**Benjamin Bradt **- Editor, Beta, Co-author and teacher. I write, he revises and sends it back. Then I rewrite his revisions and send it to him. Back and forth it goes until the reader gets to see it. Ben, You have forced me to be more critical of my own work, and for that I Thank you.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Rage and Reason**_

_**XxxX.**_

Five days had passed since the President's speech, and within that time, the best and worst that humanity had to offer came boiling to the surface. It was like slag collecting on molten metal, dross to be scraped off so the waste could be separated from anything of value.

Churches, synagogues, mosques and temples overflowed with scared people seeking comfort and guidance. A handful of spiritual leaders spoke of tolerance and hospitality, encouraging their congregations to view the visitors with open eyes and clear minds, allowing the visitor's actions to speak for them. But many were not so welcoming of this Age of Understanding, choosing instead to thump their holy books in triumph, screaming about fallen angels, Armageddon and eternal damnation. They promised the only way to survive was through repentance, fanning the flames of fear and ignorance in the name of immortal salvation.

The numbers on Wall Street plummeted in a massive sell off as nervous investors attempted to liquidate their assets into cold, hard cash. This activity threatening to turn a recession into a full fledged depression, and the Treasury Department closed the stock exchange in an attempt to forestall economic disaster. When the opening bell rang three days later, the financial hemorrhage had clotted to a slow bleed, leaving opportunists with money to snap up the cheaper shares. The cost of food, medicine and fuel skyrocketed as people horded supplies, and unscrupulous merchants saw a faster way to greater profits. As a result, larger cities suffered riots as people raided stores for necessities that had become too expensive for anyone to afford.

The Autobots watched in horrid fascination as six billion Homo sapiens dismantled in five days, a civilization that had taken millions of years to come into being, out of fear of change. Overnight, had gone from a little known entity to the outspoken leader of the Pro-human movement. The leader was one Randolph Jerome Smith; ex-CIA agent, former liaison to the Autobot forces on Earth, and dangerously unbalanced xenophobe.

E4H was not alone; in the wake of the attack on Tranquility, several other pro-human groups emerged, most notably Earth's Army and Mankind First. All three groups vowed to protect human interests and human rights; all three groups saw their ranks swell as people turned away from their leaders and embraced new ideologies. Optimus quickly forbid the Autobots to interfere with any activities of these organizations unless they posed an immediate and valid threat, the semantics of which came into immediate question the moment Prime was out of audio range. Next, people claiming to have been abducted and probed by the Cybertronians, came forward by the thousands. The Autobots agreed that none of them had ever probed a human, forcibly or otherwise, and were also skeptical of Decepticon involvement. The fact that a victim of a 'Con probing would not live long enough to complain about it, was the basis for dismissing that possibility.

The other side of the human spectrum produced several pro-alien or pro-visitor groups, at the forefront of which was Friends of Cybertron, or the FOC as they liked to be called; they strove to promote understanding and acceptance, and some of their more enthusiastic members had even suggested trying to produce the first Human-Cybertronian hybrid. The fact that humans were small biological creatures and Cybertronians were enormous sentient robots didn't seem to register to the men and women volunteering for the honor of parenting the first cross breed children. The more level-headed minds tried to be heard above the circus-like noise; these logical souls asked for a cautious, rational approach to negotiating with the aliens. The media all but ignored them and focused on the sensational freak show that fear, fascination and fanaticism had produced. CNN, MSNBC and FOX News ran continuous coverage of the fallout to the President's speech.

For five agonizing days, the alien visitors watched with morbid fascination as the ripples they had made turned into colossal tidal waves that threatened to wash humanity off of the evolutionary ladder.

_**XxxX . **_

Optimus Prime watched in stoic silence, his hand covering part of his noble face as his piercing optics glowed in disbelief. All around chaos and madness erupted because of the simple knowledge that there _was_ intelligent life in the galaxy other than the human race. Humanity _was_ a young species, but it was exhibiting behavior that made it appear animalistic and primitive; incapable of rational thought. He sat in shock as he realized that he and the Autobots had been sheltered; cocooned from the insanity that was the human race. For almost four years, they had dealt with the exceptions not the norm. He _had_ witnessed goodness in the fledgling species, but now he had also witnessed overwhelming evil, greed and selfishness. His spark ached in sympathy for those suffering through the madness. He wondered if the small organics would have been better off if they had left the planet following the destruction of the Allspark. The more he analyzed the situation, the more he questioned his judgment, and the more he pulled away from those around him.

A commentator with gleaming eyes and a grim voice began informing TV viewers of an appalling murder-suicide that occurred. "A man executed his wife and three daughters before killing himself, ending a tense five-hour standoff with local police. The suspect was identified as forty-three year old Vincent Hammond. Apparently he left a suicide note blaming the Cybertronians for telling him that 'his family was of inferior stock and to eradicate them'."

He had seen enough. Revulsion swept over him and he had to leave the room. Feeling the others' questioning optics on him, he ignored them and sought solitude. Walking down the hall, he could hear the femme's quiet movements as she tried to catch up with him. He was not sure he wanted the company right now. His mind was in turmoil over the chaos humans were torturing themselves with. He had hoped to make Earth a second home, a place to live out their days in relative quiet. Now, he was not sure if he wanted to stay or if they would be allowed to stay. Thoughts of living peacefully beside the humans were wilting like cut flowers without water.

A small hand took his, incessantly tugging on it until he acquiesced and let the femme pull him into an unused room. Velocity; his quirky and spirited mate. Normally she could brightened his day with her peculiar sense of humor, but right now he doubted there was anything she could do or say to lift him up.

"Talk to me. I know you are torturing yourself," she stated.

He stared at anything but the much smaller femme; she had turned those summer green optics on him. "I was wondering if those children would still be alive had we not come to Earth," He admitted after a long pause.

"Oh, Optimus . . . Don't do this to yourself." She said with worry, "Stop watching the news, every story is sensationalized for he utmost impact. They only like to show things that will increase their ratings, and that typically involves the shocking or grotesque. Very few people care if what the media shows is informative or, Heaven forbid, accurate. Those people get to spew forth as much gory filth as they want, then they hide behind the First Amendment if someone questions them and their motives. There is no one to hold them responsible for misinformation or slander. If there is a story about decency or kindness, they ignore it or stick it in that thirty second window they like to call 'human interest stories'. There is decency out there, but the media won't show it; they don't care, it isn't interesting enough. A lot of people are carrying on with their lives. They are loving their families and telling their children there is nothing to fear. They are waiting to make a decision about us. They are waiting for the truth. Ignore the media, they don't care about people, only about their numbers."

He was silent. On Cybertron, to become a certified news outlet, the reporters had to display a level of professionalism and validate their stories. On the other hand, the Council also used the media to spread propaganda and to cover up a war that was taking more lives everyday. It was a double edged sword. "Do you want me to ignore the fact that children have died because of us and act like it never happened?"

"You did nothing to those girls. You haven't even been in the city they lived in," the crimson and copper femme reminded him. "Optimus, in times of stress, you get to see what people are really made of. That thin veneer of civilization that humans pride themselves on is peeled away pretty damn quickly when the tensions mount. Humans are not Cybertronians; they have a different psychology. Humans hide their true natures; they have to for society to work. You told me once that your people had to learn violence; humans are born with violent tendencies. The sweetest toddler will hit and bite someone who upsets them. Humans _have_ to learn to get along. The riots in Brooklyn, the looting, the price gouging, murder and blatant bigotry are all behaviors that have always been present in those people. All of the nastiness you see on the news has been waiting for a catalyst; something to give people an excuse to act this way. Right now, the excuse is an interstellar war. Before that, it was natural disasters, failing economies, or falling governments. Who knows what will set off the next wave of idiocy in these primates. It isn't your fucking fault, and I won't let you shoulder the blame for this stupidity!" Velocity had her hand on his chest; and would poke him to keep his attention or accentuate a point. For just a fleeting second he was reminded of another femme that would use the same gesture when she thought he was being asinine and glitch headed.

"I feel sorry for all of the people that we have brought suffering to and have done nothing to deserve it," he lamented. He was tired if the suffering; his people had suffered the death of their world, and now a new world was suffering because of their presence. Perhaps that was all that his kind was, bringers of misery. Looking at the femme before him, he could almost believe it. She had been born to a different body, a different life, until he had taken her in.

"I feel sorry for them too, but in the end, they are not mine to keep, nor are they yours. You are the Prime of Cybertron, not the Prime of Earth. You cannot hold yourself responsible for the actions of almost seven billion people. You can help where you are able to, but at the end of the day, the humans will have to find their own way." Her words were rational; they made sense, and he wanted to agree.

"You sound as if you were never one of them," he pointed out.

"I never was. I lived among them, but I was never one of them. You know this. Give this some time to settle down. Things should get better. Once the public gets to meet you and all of your primey goodness, things will turn around. People are scared and need answers. All you can do is give them those answers . . .rationally…honestly."

The femme was trying to make him see reason. He knew if he broached the subject with Ratchet, the medic would have similar words of advice. It was hard to let go. He had been the Prime of one of the most powerful worlds in the galaxy, and now there was nothing left. He had been reduced to governing a very small band of refugees on a potentially hostile, technologically inferior planet. He didn't miss the power, he didn't miss the stress and loneliness that came with his position as Prime. He had never wanted the responsibility, but after millions of years, it was hard to let go. He knew the humans were not his to guide and influence, but he wanted to do so anyways. The Autobots could advance the species into a better age, but doing so would be unethical. The humans had to advance themselves, or they would be nothing more than a bunch of pets. Optimus raised his optics to look at the femme. She had shifted to a less aggressive stance, but the annoyance and concern he felt for him was evident in her bearing. "I wish you would reconsider going to Washington with us. I would like to have you by my side while I am there," he rumbled in a deep baritone.

Velocity slowly shook her head. "I'm the last person you want on a diplomatic mission. I'd lose my temper and cuss out Congress or something. Anyways, someone needs to stay here and help Wheeljack run interference between the twins and Ratchet . . .and, the twins and the military . . . and the twins and the entire known universe."

Stepping forward he slipped his arms around the femme. He felt his spark flicker in reaction to her closeness; their energy fields mingled and he took solace in knowing she would be waiting for him to return. Having someone to come back made this "hole in the ground" bearable.

_**XxxX.**_

Velocity tried to hold still while the CMO repaired her hand. She had sacrificed the appendage to stop a Decepticon that had foolishly decided to invade their base. She did not like strangers and she especially did not like strangers in her home that shot at her and blew up stuff, those kinds of things just grated on her. Optimus had very little to say over the event, but she knew he felt guilty for not coming to her aid. She didn't fault him for his decision; he had been trying to save Tranquility at the time. Shortly thereafter, they had shared, and Optimus had revealed his spark to her, convinced her to give him part of her soul. Giving to that temptation had not been one of her smartest moves; he had bonded them together on a level she didn't know existed, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. She would do anything for him, she knew she loved him, but she wasn't sure she should be _with_ him. The mech would be gone for two weeks and that was all the time she had to figure this out.

A sharp pain brought her out of her thoughts and back into the harsh lighting of the med bay. It had been several days since the razing of Tranquility and she was finally getting her needed repairs. She understood why Ratchet had triaged her to the end of the line; mostly because Wheeljack had handled her more sever injuries before the fighting in town had ended. Also, the others had had much more pressing damage to contend with, so she waited her turn.

She had become irritated when she learned, through Wheeljack, that the real reason her repairs had not been finished was that Ratchet was having difficulty replicating her unique copper coloring. Pushing the engineer for more information became a futile effort, for he realized his mistake and refused to talk anymore. She was left wondering why the 'Bot that built her body and gave her the odd coloring, couldn't repeat the process. Finally, she approached the chartreuse perfectionist and commented that she didn't mind her hands being different colors. Ratchet stomped off complaining about ridiculous femmes trying to ruin his reputation. When the medic finally informed her that he had "replacement parts" for her, she was ecstatic. The two fingers and claw like thumb that were meant as a temporary solution, were troublesome at best. She wasn't ambidextrous like a true Cybertronian; she was right-handed, and found that the cobbled together appendage was grossly inadequate.

The medic had been tugging, pulling, tweaking and tampering with her right arm for some time. On a couple of occasions pain, intense enough to make her hiss obscenities, shot up her arm and into her shoulder. The surly medic told her to stop moving when this happened; she could have sworn she had not moved a millimeter. Finally, Ratchet patted her thigh and told her she could sit up. Immediately she looked over her new hand. It was a perfect mirror of her other one. Well, almost. The left hand had some scratches, whereas the right one was shiny and new. After running some tests and adjusting small gears and servos in her fingers and wrist, the medic pronounced her fit for duty. On a whim, Velocity threw her arms around the mech and squeezed. Ratchet quickly untangled himself from her embrace and told her to "get her glitching aft out of his med bay before he found his arc welder". She wasn't worried; she saw the smile hiding in his optics.

_**XxxX. **_

**A/N: **Vincent Hammond is a name I picked randomly. If he resembles any Vincent Hammond living or dead, it is purely coincidental. Yes, I'm picking on the big three news networks.

To **Flyingtwinkie** - Glad to be of service. To **Ben B. **- Stop being so modest. You are helping make this the best it can be. To **Tiamat1972** - Ben wrote most of that part. The entire idea of the Pres just speaking, was his. He deserves the credit for the wonderfulness.

Yes, just posting the Prelude was a teaser. Oh, come on. Ya'll know how I am.


	3. Prime Time Prime

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

Yes, I have lowered the rating. I have decided that there is enough botsmut on the internet, and removed that from the story. Things will be hinted at, but nothing portrayed in detail.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**Beta Reader **_and _**Co-conspirator **_is the talented and knowledgeable **Benjamin Bradt**. I write he edits and rewrites. If something is especially good, most likely he wrote it. If something is wrong, or blasé chances are good I wrote it. He deserves a lot of the credit for making this what it is.

_**XxxX**_

_**Prime Time Prime**_

_**XxxX.**_

Rolling onto her left side, Velocity attempted to find a comfortable position. When that didn't work, she flipped to her other side and scooted around until her back was pressed against the wall. Lying still, she thought that she might be able to finally power down enough to recharge. No such luck. After almost forty-five minutes she gave up. Struggling to a sitting position, she rubbed her face with both hands and moaned in self-pity. _This isn't working_ she thought to herself.

Throwing her legs over the side of the recharge bunk, she softly padded across the room to increase the light level. As the darkness retreated, she glanced around and sighed. This wasn't her room; this area belonged to Optimus, even though he would argue it belonged to the peoples of Earth. It didn't matter who it belonged to, his presence had touched everything in here and it felt abandoned without him to fill the space.

Turning on the TV, she watched a few minutes of the news. CNN showed mobs of people waving picket signs; the Capitol Building was in the back ground. Angry bigots were chanting catchy phrases such as "Go…a…way" and "Not your planet". "Lovely." she said to herself. Flicking through several more channels, she saw similar images; flowing groups of humans waving signs that would list to and fro like sails during a maritime regatta. The higher numbers tempted her with mindless nonsense. There was a square, yellow…thing with an obnoxious laugh that made her shutter.

(Flick) Some metro sexual was explaining how to choose paint colors to harmonize and redirect the energies of a room. _Yuck. _

(Flick) Old reruns of sitcoms from the seventies. _Nope._

(Flick) Somebody that must be famous, showing off his 'crib'. She had no clue who he was, or why anyone would care to see his house. _Whatever._

(Flick) A plump blond was selling jewelry of such a deplorable quality, that it made the femme laugh aloud. _And for six small payments of forty-five dollars, that crap can be yours_. Flicking through a couple of more stations, she settled on a middle aged woman baking cookies. Velocity groaned at the thought of chocolate chip cookies all hot and gooey from the oven. Soft, chewy delectable's with little bits of molten chocolate that could burn a hole right through someone's tongue.

God, she missed cookies. Fuck, she missed food in general. The Autobots just didn't get it that food was for the soul as well as the body. It was masochistic, but she watched the woman in perfectly pressed, twill pants and tailored shirt eat one of the cookies. The show's hostess droned on in a flat, detached voice about enjoying the cookies while on a picnic in the Hampton's.

"Damn, Martha you're more of a robot than I am," Velocity commented to herself. The squawk-box went dark and silent when the femme killed the power to it. Raising her arms over her head, she arched her back as far as it would go. Bending forward, she wrapped her arms around her legs. The elastic fibers of her hyper-coils were stretched and loosened, ready for the day's probable abuses. She chided herself for feeling a little lost with Optimus gone. He was only in Washington, not dead. He would be coming back in a few days. And since when was she dependent on another being? Yeah, they had a little something going on, but that didn't make them inseparable. Did it? Stepping out of the room, she looked back at the vacant space and loneliness washed over her. Squaring her shoulders, she cloaked herself in stubborn determination and turned off the lights.

_**XxxX.**_.

It was heralded as the "Single Most Important Event of Human History". Velocity disagreed; she thought the title belonged to the moment hominids first climbed out of the trees.

"The Dawning of a New Era," the voice over proclaimed.

"Nope, that would be the invention of gunpowder…or maybe the toothbrush," she quipped.

"A night that will live in infamy!" the commercial exclaimed.

She just shrugged her enigmatic shrug. "I've got nothing," she admitted to the mechs staring at her.

For a couple of days there was a huge build up to the interview with Optimus Prime. The television stations were running promos so frequently, it had become obscene. Every time a new catch phrase was used, she had to contest it. It wasn't that she didn't comprehend the importance of the event. She did, it was just that there was something . . . off about the entire thing. It was lacking the solemn dignity that Optimus deserved, and had been turned into something else; something cheap. It reminded her more of the ending to "King Kong" than she cared to admit.

The show was being aired live, uncensored, and commercial free to any station that wanted it, world wide. The logistics of the satellite relays and signal bounces alone was enough to make the most cynical tech junkie stand back and say "Whoa". Security was at an all time high around the nation's capitol; General Pittenger had assured the Autobots, "A gnat couldn't fart without the activity being detected, recorded and investigated."

It wasn't gnats everyone was concerned with.

Schools let out early and business closed so that people could get home in time for the start of the broadcast. All around the world, TVs clicked on as fearful, curious humans huddled together to watch the future unfold on prime time.

The format for the interview was a deceivingly simple; it was a town hall meeting. A group of panelists would ask Prime questions and he would answer them. The fact that the panelists were the top experts in their fields and already possessed government clearance had some critics fuming. It couldn't be helped; with the abundance of anti-alien sentiments, it was too risky to have "average citizens" that close to the leader of the alien mechanoids. Nobody wanted some paranoid idiot lobbing a homemade bomb at the Autobot Commander. He might be patient and understanding, but his bodyguard-weapons specialist wasn't. The thought of that scenario playing out live and unedited had given a lot of government officials' ulcers, while the media moguls practically orgasmed.

Across the continent and hidden under ground, the rest of the Autobots stranded on Earth gathered to watch the interview. They were as curious as the humans, just on a different level. The mechs argued among them what the first and most pressing question mankind had for Optimus Prime would be. Mikaela suggested people would seek advice on how to use the global market to raise the standard of living in impoverished nations. Ratchet thought humanity would want logistical help on the distribution of life saving vaccines and knowledge for the prevention or curing of common diseases. Wheeljack mentioned the energy crisis and that the humans would want more efficient ways of using what they already have. Sideswipe wondered if people would want to be less squishy; the twins were ignored from that point forward. Velocity commented that everyone had the bar raised too high, and were going to be disappointed when the questions were ridiculously mundane or outright stupid. She was dubbed a cynic, and she only shrugged.

Dramatic music sounded, the five mechs and one human female, along with the rest of the world, turned their attention to the TV. The screen showed a distant planet slowly rising to view. A star rose behind the unnamed world and its light gently danced along the planets rings. "Saturn!" Sideswipe sputtered with indignation. "Cybertron looks nothing like Saturn, and our sun isn't near that close. Stupid, uneducated, slag headed, under evolved, soft bodied humans."

Velocity rolled her optics. "I doubt they have much stock footage of Cybertron in TV land," she retorted.

The melee warrior twisted around so he could see the femme. "Well of course, you don't give a frag; you _are_ a Saturn."

The crimson and copper femme took up the challenge thrown at her. "Hey, hotshot, it's not my fault no one thought Lamborghinis were good enough to name a planet after."

"Shut up, both of you!" the medic snapped. "Velocity, I expected better from you."

The femme kept her vocal processors silent and acted cowed; not because of Ratchet's remark, but because of the yellow twin. Her jab at Italian super cars had earned her a cold, hard glare from Sunstreaker. She wasn't above pushing Sideswipe's buttons but she stayed as far away from Sunny as possible. Something about the buttercup colored mech was dark, twisted and dangerous. Nothing she wanted to tangle with. Settling down she watched the program with the rest of the crew.

On the TV, the commentator started telling viewers about the search for a lost relic, and how that search brought both the Decepticons and Autobots to Earth. The commentator continued with a retelling of the battle at Mission City and the defeat of the Decepticon leader and the destruction of the Allspark. It was a brief lesson that brought the average viewer up to date, in case someone had actually missed one of the thousands of programs, talk shows, pod casts, blogs, newspaper articles and radio commentaries about the aliens.

The introduction to the interview, while impressively rendered and visually stunning, was slightly inaccurate. It was a glossed over, sterilized version of the actual events. No mention was made of the war that had all but destroyed Cybertron. Absent was the fact that Optimus Prime wanted to reassemble the Autobot forces on Earth, or that some Decepticons were still running lose on the planet. Just tiny, insignificant bits of information that housewives in Peoria need not worry over.

Next was the President of the United States and a rehashing of the same speech he made after Tranquility was razed. The interview's moderator was then introduced, and he in turn introduced the panel members and gave their qualifications. People involved were thanked, backs were patted, contributions were acknowledged and one impatient red mech flopped on the floor in exaggerated death throws.

"Oh, Primus. Sunshine, shot me now. I can't take anymore of this. It's Boooreiiiing."

"Call me 'Sunshine' again, and I just might," the yellow mech snarled at his brother.

After what seemed like an eternity, Optimus Prime was introduced. The scene changed to show the colossal Autobot. The lighting bounced and played along his highly polished armor; though his stance was relaxed, he appeared imposing, regal, dignified and every inch the alien leader he was. Velocity felt something in her stir at the sight of him. She couldn't help but smile to herself; now the world was going to get to see what it meant to be noble and above reproach. If she had to describe how she felt at the moment, it would be proud and honored, two emotions she rarely experienced.

Yelling could be heard coming form the TV and Prime's attention snapped to something off screen. The camera panned to show a man from the questioning panel pulling his sweater off while he shouted obscenities at Optimus. Underneath his sweater he had on an Earth's Army t-shirt. The people around him were trying to get as far away from him as possible. A couple of heavily armed Army Ranges descended on the man, and quickly subdued him. Several agents in matching suits and dark glasses handcuffed and escorted the little xenophobe out of the camera's view. The scene shifted back to Prime.

He had watched the entire event with thoughtful interest. He glanced at the camera recording him and for a split second the pain, sorrow and guilt he was feeling at the moment was evident for all to see. Then it was gone. Wiped away as if the emotions had never existed, but those closest to him, knew it was an act. He would always wonder why the young biologist had thrown away his career and his freedom for hate.

Things settled down and order was quickly restored to normal, or what ever could be considered normal during such an event. "I bet Ironhide is having the surges right now," Sideswipe commented.

"I wonder who approved that man's clearance?" commented Wheeljack.

The CMO shrugged. "I have no idea, but the human phrase 'heads shall roll' comes to mind."

Velocity thought of a few heads she would like to separate from their shoulders, starting with whoever was in charge of the security detail. She wasn't an expert at such things, but in her mind, a quick search of the man should have revealed the shirt. Unless he had had help sneaking it past security, which made her wonder what else had made its way near Prime. He was in Washington and she was almost a continent away; if anything happened, there was nothing that she or the others could do. The energon in her system ran cold.

The interview continued. Optimus chose a young MIT graduate that was working as an Aerospace Engineer for NASA. The poor woman almost jumped out of her skin when the Autobot leader addressed her. Rising on shaking legs, she had to hold onto her neighbor to keep her balance. With palatable nervousness, she addressed the thirty foot, sentient mechanoid, "Um…Mr. Prime…are you married orwhateveryourpeoplecallmarried?" She ran the last few words together. It was as if she didn't say them as quickly as possible, they would never come out.

The camera panned to Prime just in time to see a small smile soften his metal features. "Miss Haxton," he addressed the now embarrassed woman. "I admire your courage for being the first to ask a question, but I hope you will not be disappointed if I keep my private life…private," he answered in smooth dulcet tones.

Four sets of optics turned to stare at Velocity. The matching looks of disbelief on the Autobots' faces made her chuckle. "I told you it would be a stupid question," she said without any hint of smugness.

Without warning, Sideswipe started laughing like the lunatic he was. "Oh, frag. You know that FOC group that wants to try and crossbreed? Well, the number of volunteers just doubled." The warrior laughed with uncontrolled hysterics. "Hey. Hey, anybody want to hear the comments people are making about Optimus on the forum. Oh, Primus. Some of them are…Frag! Now that is just twisted….I wish someone would do that to me."

"No!" snarled Ratchet. "If you don't shut down your glitching vocalizer, I'll remove it and reinstall it in your tailpipe." The red mech calmed down, but every couple of minutes, he would giggle to himself. The interview continued and Optimus fielded the questions with an effortless eloquence. Sometimes, he would answer with simple sentences, other times lengthy commentary. On a couple of occasions he chose not to answer at all. It was interesting, and informative, and completely boring.

After about an hour, an intermission was called to allow the panelists a chance to move around and tend to any necessities. Without commercials, there was nothing to show but some of the behind the scenes activities. A camera's view widened to capture the uninteresting activities of equipment being moved, a man sweeping the area Optimus was standing in while the mech was talking to a couple of the panel members that had approached him. Another man with a clipboard and wearing a microphone-headset was directing the boom crane operator. Off to one side, two more mechs could be seen standing with a human male. One of the aliens was coal black and the other blazing yellow. The poor young man with them looked lost and overwhelmed.

"Oh, shit," Velocity swore under her breath. She heard similar comments from Ratchet and Wheeljack. _What the fuck is going on there? How to use it? How to use it? _Weighing the odds and outcomes, she settled on a course of action.

Velocity kicked the red Lamborghini to get his attention. "Sides', stop downloading porn and text Sam."

"Do it yourself."

She snarled, trying to display fangs she no longer possessed. "Just send, 'turn right and wave'."

On the TV screen, the young man standing with the unknown mechs pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the display. The yellow Autobot bent down the read the message. At the same time they both turned and waved at the camera. Sam looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, his cheeks became flushed and he visibly stiffened. All he could manage was a modest wave while Bumblebee wiggled his fingers merrily at the viewers at home. Ironhide just folded his arms over his chest and glared at the offending camera like he could melt it with nothing more than a look. Sam could be seen stepping closer to his guardian and the scout gently rubbing the smaller human's back in an attempt to comfort and reassure.

Velocity let out a sigh. That couldn't have gone any better. She hoped she wasn't going to be in too much trouble for pulling such a stunt.

"Great," Mikaela groaned. "My fiancée looks like a dweeb."

_**XxxX.**_

After the intermission, Optimus took time to introduce Sam, Bumblebee and Ironhide to the world. He also explained that the other Autobots were excited to see their fellows on TV. No one was any wiser that there had been a major security breach and that the Prime of Cybertron was furious. The only sign of his change in mood was a slight darkening of his blue optics.

Velocity excused herself before the interview was over. The CMO was staring daggers at her. She wanted to find a really big rock and crawl under it. She knew she couldn't talk fast enough to explain her actions before the medic unleashed his anger.

_**XxxX.**_

"The network has issued a formal apology, and the camera man has admitted to being a member of Earth for Humans. The Secret Service is looking into any ties he might have had with the biologist. Optimus, I'm sorry. What can we do to make this better?"

Dark azure optics glowed in restrained fury. "There is nothing you can do." the mech said softly. An almost inaudible growl accented his words. "The damage is done. Sam's identity was suppose to be kept a secret, and now he won't be able to go anywhere without being recognized."

For the first time the Secretary of Defense was fearful of Optimus Prime. The massive mech was angry, but that wasn't what made Keller nervous. It was the level of anger, he couldn't read it. The emotions were so carefully kept in check that it was impossible to get a feel for them. To the elder man it was similar to seeing a thunderstorm on the horizon and trying to decide if it was going to bring rain or a tornado.

"You didn't have to introduce him. He could have remained anonymous," Keller pointed out.

"Sam's image had already been seen by half of the world's population. Someone was bound to identify him. Any chance he had at a normal life has vanished because of a cameraman's betrayal. Also, it would have appeared deceitful to try and hide his involvement with us. For now on, we Autobots will provide our own security. I would like to continue working in conjunction with the military, but we will no longer take a passive role."

The Prime stood and turned away from the Secretary of Defense. Keller knew he was being dismissed. He wasn't offended by the Autobot leader's actions, if anything he was relieved. Prime wasn't cutting ties with the US government. He wasn't blaming anyone for the numerous oversights that had occurred. He was just going to make sure the same mistakes weren't made in the future. Today had bee a disaster. Earth's Army and E4H had been able to position several of their members dangerously close to Prime. Fortunately, this seemed to have been just been a test; a chance to see how easy it was to get within striking distance of the Autobots. The next time might not be some idiot with a foul mouth and a t-shirt. The next time could be an idiot with an incendiary device or an EMP.

It was late and Keller's head was pounding. Not only did the country have to contend with foreign terrorists, domestic terrorists and rogue Decepticons, but now there were a bunch of xenophobes, hell bent on causing trouble. He couldn't wait until he could retire from his position. Leaving the highly secured warehouse, he told his driver to take him to the hotel. He had a bottle of aged Scotch that was calling him.

_**XxxX.**_

**A/N **- "the surges" came from **Maelstrom** by **illmatar**. She said I could use it and in return I suggest everyone to go read her epic tale. There is nothing better than a crazy Rodimus Prime. It's posted here on ff dot net. Now shoo, go read it.

To **Ben** - Thanks, but you know more about what's going on than anybody else. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Yes, I am back. I got bored writing and decided to start posting. To **Library Drone SAR** - Huzzah! Thank you and don't get me started. I just spent the weekend with kilt clad gentlemen, bodice wearing ladies, and drinking my fill of mead. Unfortunately the speech is true. Shall I admit I am a trained behaviorist. Nice to know those degrees are bing put to use. To **Northwest Sage** - blush Thank you. To **Punk Autobot** - I have been wondering what the actual reaction would be. Watch the news for a day and the answere becomes horrifically clear. To **Tiamat1972** - Honestly I despise the media. They only tell one side and ignore the facts. To **Flyingtwinkie** - Alas, you have discovered my weakness. Combine tenses and sunlight and I turn to dust. Thank you for pointing that out. Don't bow. This is what I wanted to do for the first part, but just never broached the subject of being an outsider. That is one of the themes for this story. It is hard trying to figure out how they would react. Again Thank you. To **Kiada Tori** - Prime is so Ubersensative to be a warrior. He will get to be a bit more Primy in this story. I want to play with the conflicting aspects of his personality. To **Miss Hiss **- Thank you and honey, ain't nothing happened yet. Just wait until...well, just wait.


	4. Work Hard, Play Hard

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**Beta Read by: **_**Benjamin Bradt. **For this chapter he gets Co-Author status. He has tweaked here and there, but I shall give credit for the first section to him. He took my stumbling attempts and made it into a beautiful dance. Ben, I owe you an endless amount of thanks.

_**XxxX. **_

_**Work Hard, Play Hard**_

_**XxxX.**_

Velocity's footfalls were nothing more than soft whispers as she moved through the darkened hallways; she was restless, unable to settle down, so she paced the corridors like a caged animal, going over the same path again and again, tirelessly stalking prey that wasn't there. Her mind couldn't focus on any single topic and it was driving her feet to wander; somewhere, along the shadow corridors of her home, she hoped to stumble across the answers she longed for.

The day had been spent trying to stay off of Ratchet's radar. She had even accompanied a military patrol to avoid the perturbed mech. While the humans searched the abandoned town of Tranquility, she had a chance to see the damage the battle had wrought, and it had done nothing to help calm her state of mind. The dark, rusty-red stains that randomly splattered the pavement and buildings told of death and failure. The destruction tore at her soul and she found herself sitting alone on the blacktop of a school playground, wishing for tears she could no longer shed. She had read the reports; children had been on the blacktop when the alien war landed on top of their school. Phantom screams echoed in her head as one unimaginable scenario after another played like old movie reels behind her optics. Her imagination tried to assert itself and wash away the here and now until, finally unable to take anymore torment, she had headed back to base.

That had had been earlier in the night, and she was still haunted by apocalyptic scenes of scared children surrounded by raging war machines. Right now she was trying to focus on the dynamics of her relationship with Optimus. It was a safe and mundane place for her mind to wander, it held none of the horror or depravity that her trip into the demolished town had left her with. Unfortunately, her thoughts refused to cooperate and the events from earlier were entrenched in her waking mind. In the moments she could distract herself long enough to ponder their union there was no calming voice in her heart but only bitter cynicism. But for the intimate bond he had shared with her, he was nearly a total stranger, and the whole affair seemed eponymous of a Las Vegas Wedding.

"It's not that bad…is it?" She asked the empty hallway in a tiny voice. Her words were consumed by the half light of the powered down base, and the darkness gave nothing back in return; just an androgynous, pregnant silence. There were so many questions and no answers, it made her want to bang her head against the wall in frustration. Her heart told her to just let go and trust him, her head said she had fucked up one of the best things ever. They had been friends, pure and simple, able to talk, for hours, about any topic or sit in comfortable silence. Now, there was this new element between them, a strained and fragile unrequited need. It was nothing so simple as a carnal desire, but much more complex, an intangible prerequisite bordering on psychological and spiritual. When it came to this undefined…thing…he needed, her paucity was palpable, and the fear of failing him was akin to a death sentence in her mind.

The loudest derision was her own. In a moment of folly and weakness; she had permitted this to happen, allowing him to perform the union with her and fill her with things she could not, or would not, truly understand. Her elders had spoke about the purity of the soul. Everything that existed held a soul, big or small, and that ethereal node was the very ignition point for everything from cellular division to conscious thought. In essence, it was the _organic_ spark; and she had allowed him to muddy her soul with his spark. She could hear the elders clucking their tongues in disapproval; her act was immoral, an aberration of order her people had once lived so stringently by. The soul was never meant to touch or to be touched. It was inconceivable, an unforgivable taboo.

"But why is it taboo?!" The demanding doubt in her voice froze her in midstep; the edge of an epiphany touched the surface of her mind and quickly receded. She closed her eyes, and could feel him with her, a warm strength that glowed deep within and lazily swirled along the bond they shared. When she concentrated, she could pick up his emotions and occasionally, Optimus would acknowledge her presence, caress her naked soul with his own as if to reaffirm her that nothing could ever be wrong, embolden her strength with his own. How can something that makes her feel so . . . safe, ever be wrong?"

In that instant, the paradigm of her mind shifted, and the imposed beliefs that she had held for so long began to crack and shatter under the weight of her questions, and from the ruinous state of uncertainty, new obstacles in the form of questions and insecurities arose to impede her path to enlightenment. What had begun as a simple evaluation of her relationship had progressed into the realm of broken beliefs and desiccated dogma. In many ways she was like the humans, and had to negotiate her way through the wickedly pointed shards of old, fragmented axioms and values. Round and round her thoughts turned as her feet headed blindly towards an unknown destination. She argued with herself long into the night, and was no closer to having the answers she was seeking than when she began.

It would have been nice to have a friend to talk to, someone to help take a different view on the situation or just give advice. She longed for her father, the pillar of rigid stability in her tumultuous childhood; he had always been there help her make sense of things, a calm voice that kept her grounded and focused. But wishing was wasting her patience and energy. He was no longer where she could talk to him; gone from this world and into the next. She doubted she could talk to any of the other mechs about her feelings and insecurities, and as much as she had come to see them as friends and a surrogate family, they saw things in a different light than she did. Perhaps being older than the human race and having positronic brains had something to do with it. She had been so absorbed in her own fretting that she didn't notice she was no longer alone until it was too late.

Movement startled her as a large mass detached itself from the shadows, cerulean optics glowing softly in the darkness. Primal reflexes overrode logical observation, and Velocity was in full battle mode in an instant, her mind already cycling back to when another had tried to confront her in these mazelike corridors. Energon burned in her veins as servos tightened and talons came bared, her body spring tight and eager to snap with a volatile fury, aching for a distraction from the maddening introspective. Her would-be opponent carried none of her blood lust, and his lack of concern stayed her attack. The chartreuse medic stopped where he was and gave her a bored look. "Are you done yet?" His tone was reminiscent of a parent dealing with a precocious child.

"Ratchet, has anyone told you not to sneak up on people?" The femme's words were dripping vitriol in response to the burning embarrassment she felt inside.

The medic ignored her comment and moved in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the smaller femme. Suddenly, Velocity remembered that she had spent the day hiding from the CMO, and the stern gaze developed an almost sun-like intensity. _Aww dammit . . ._

"Why did you do it?" Even though his tone was calm, she knew that the softly spoken question was a demand for answers.

"Bumblebee and Sam would look cute waving to the nameless masses," she said with more than just a hint of sarcasm in her voice. It wasn't the best answer, but she wanted to get back to agonizing over her life, not mincing words with the surly medic. "The mindless public would…"

Ratchet, narrowed his optics at her. "This isn't some game." The tone of his voice cut like an atom-wide blade. "The agreement we had with CNN was for Optimus, and only Optimus, to appear on camera. It was too great of a risk having Sam's involvement with us become public knowledge. He and Mikaela are the most vulnerable of our group, unable to defend or retaliate against a Decepticon attack, or recover as easily as you or I. Considering the media maelstrom surrounding the controversy of human-robot relations, and the emergence of so many potentially violent protestors, they live in constant fear of those who would hurt them to get at Optimus Prime. A fact I assumed you, of all people, would have been…very…aware…of."

Velocity narrowed her optics at Ratchet, barely suppressing the urge to leap upon him and dig her claws into his armor. How dare he assume that she had, even for an instant, stopped thinking about Sam's and Mikaela's situation? She had begun life as an organic, and was more than aware of the weaknesses of being so small and soft, especially when the small and soft get caught up in the affairs of the Cybertronians. "Fuck . . . you . . ." she drew the simple statement out, balling her fists, razor like talons digging into her own metal skin. "Who the hell do you think you are, assuming that even for a second, you know what it's like trying to live with giant robots. Why do you think everyone around here takes up running? It's not to keep the fat trimmed off or the cholesterol down, its because being able to run and run quickly is the best, and sometimes only, way to survive." She shifted to mimic his pose. "And for the record, Mr. Know-it-all, This _is_ a game. It's a time honored, human tradition to see who can garner the most public appeal. We have to get the media on our side and the support of the populace will follow. If we don't have public support, then you can kiss any chance of an alliance with Earth good bye. I know that CNN violated the contract when the cameraman showed Sam's face to the world, and now 'Samuel James Witwicky' is a household name. I didn't make the cameraman turn that way; it isn't my fault that his life is over, so go lay the blame somewhere else!"

The mech snarled, "Do you really believe that? Sam was spotted on the set, with a hundred other humans. Was he a sympathizer? Maybe he was just a newsroom intern, or the son of one of the camera men, whose dad gave him the 'once in a lifetime chance' to meet a giant robot? He was a normal, unassuming human, to the eyes of the world, until you made him wave. That made him a part of our group. That made him stand out from the other humans there. That made him a point of interest. You made him a point of interest. _That _is _your _fault!"

"There is no way he could have gone unnoticed! I can promise you that, at this very moment, there are hundreds of obsessive nut jobs, sitting in their basements, agonizing over the interview frame by frame, identifying and researching every face on the set, every nuance Optimus makes. 'Was he looking at, or away, from the person he was talking to' or 'was he trying to intimidate the person by calling him out on his nervousness'. Sam would have been less conspicuous if he'd held a blinking, neon sign that said 'I play with space robots'. Waving and making him and the others seem cute, only serves to endear you to the humans."

"I highly doubt that Optimus would deem publicly outing Sam as an Autobot sympathizer and ally would be a justifiable risk to make him appear 'cute'," Ratchet's tone was aggressive, and the fury in his face made him look like he was going to blow a gasket.

Velocity rubbed her temples with her finger tips. Frustration eating away at her already brittle temper. "Maybe you should trust me, for once, and leave the predicting of human actions to the one of you who is used to dealing with humans! I could not have survived amidst the humans for as long as I did if I didn't understand them and how they tick; how they perceive actions, and how to manipulate their perceptions of those actions. Shockingly, this is something I am quite good at. The only way we're going to make mankind empathize with us is if they see us as _individuals_. A thousand people can die in a natural disaster or war and the people will look at it as if they were a dead bug on the kitchen floor; but if one individual of public notoriety dies, the world stops to mourn. Now, the world knows Sam and Bumblebee are connected; they are no longer part of the faceless masses, they are individuals. Giant alien robots are as intimidating as hell, have you actually looked at that rotary blade you wear on your arm? To you it is a necessary tool for battlefield surgery, but to a soft bodied human, it conjures images of a grisly, bloody death. We have to make them think we're more friendly than fearsome. We have to have them accept us as people and individuals. Maybe then Sam can go back to living a normal life, someday."

"How endearing," the medic sneered at her, "I'm sure Prime will feel so much better about Sam's public lynching when the world shows up at his funeral." Velocity flinched at the harsh sting of his words. "You keep going on about '_your _experiences' and '_your_ way of handling things' and how '_you_ know how everyone would respond to _you_'. This is about Sam, Mikaela, and how they're going to handle having to look over their shoulders and wonder who around them is going to try and kill them for being associated with us. The only part of this that is about _you_ is how _you _made the decision to put them at risk because _you _thought that it'd be CUTE!" He pointed an accusatory finger at her, "You need to stop going on about all of this like it's a game, and you can just walk away from it. Maybe you haven't noticed, but you aren't human anymore; you're an intimidating, giant, robot. Whatever means you used to make people think you were just another faceless organic won't work, because we're not faceless organics. We are intimidating, giant, alien robots, and although it would take a lot before they hurt us, there is a cute, endearing little human mascot who can be hurt."

Velocity opened her mouth to speak, when a very small "excuse me" drifted up from the floor, and the two mechanoids turned to look at the tiny figure of Mikaela standing between them. The girl's black hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her normally healthy olive tan skin was pale. The poor girl looked horrible as she stood there, shivering and swaying on her feet. "Ratchet, I haven't been feeling well, and I keep throwing up-"

The green robot scooped her up in mid sentence, fixing Velocity with harsh optics. "You think you can predict the actions of nearly eight billion, violent, little primates? You had better be right." He spun on his heel and hurried toward the medbay, not giving her a chance to respond.

For an instant, she considered following Ratchet; whether or not they could see eye-to-eye on how the current situation would best be resolved, they both valued the well-being of their two human friends above anything else. Standing in a pool of incandescent light amid shadowy darkness, the femme wanted to scream at the retreating figure of the medic; she knew she did the right thing, and this wasn't a game she would walk away from, even if she could. There was too much at stake to do that. She was just as furious about Sam's exposure as Ratchet was, but she was trying desperately to start swaying the opinion of the average American, not fume and pout. They didn't have time to argue all possible out comes. There were going to be times that would have to act, not react. Of course she knew she was a giant robot; she knew this every time she looked down at the humans about her knees, every time she refueled on energon, every motion of her metal form reminded her she was no longer a frail organic; and what of these frail humans that associated with them, had they figured it out? Had they figured out that their lives were likely to be short and end painfully at the hands of a Decepticon? Assassination by another human would probably be a blessing. A quick bullet to the head was preferable to becoming a plaything for a sadistic mech. Had she been given those options, she had no doubt which one she would have taken.

She did what she did to help them, all of them, human and mech alike. She would stand by her actions, but they needed to do so much more if it was to work. The interview with Optimus was the tip of the iceberg. The mech would never be faceless; they would always stand above the crowd and be noticed. There were two ways to slip into the mainstream and receive acceptance; be mundane and humble, or be a rock star. Her instincts told her they had to be both.

In the end, she did not follow them, deciding that perhaps a race across the desert would be preferable to risking another bout over the CNN broadcast; she had energon to burn, and thinking seemed anything but productive anymore.

_**XxxX.**_

Sitting on the floor with her legs crossed in front of her, Velocity carefully striped the insulation off the end of a piece of wire. An open palm appeared in front of her and she placed a randomly selected tool in it. The hand belonged to the mech that was stretched out on his back near her; half of his upper body was consumed by an access panel of the new workstation he was installing in Central Ops. The original one had been obliterated by a now very deceased Decepticon. Wheeljack had commented once that the 'Con had done them a favor; with the impending arrival of Teletraan-1 they were going to have to expand and remodel the area to accommodate the AI anyways….

The hand quickly reappeared and with a dramatic flourish, dropped the erroneous tool in her lap. Fingers snapped in annoyance when she didn't produce the correct utensil quick enough. Humorously, malicious thoughts of using the nippers to relieve the engineer of his fingers flashed through her mind. Instead she placed five different items in the demanding hand. She heard Wheeljack chuckle as he playfully tossed the tools in her general direction. "Wire," he chortled.

"Then say so. I can't read your mind, nor would I want to," she retorted with an almost audible roll of her optics as she handed him the wire she had just finished stripping.

It had been like this for two days. He would hold out his hand and she had to guess what the mech wanted. If she produced the wrong tool, he would pitch it aside and hold his hand out again. Once he even playfully thumped her on top of the head with something not quite resembling pliers when she had called him a few choice names. The entire ordeal was annoying, but it forced her to pay close attention to what he was doing, and anticipate what he needed next. It was vexing and fun at the same time. If nothing else, it kept her out of the way of a foul tempered ambulance and busied her mind enough that she didn't spend much time thinking. Thinking had become her worst enemy and it did more damage than good.

As Wheeljack worked, she adjusted the spool the wire was on so it would unwind with ease. "Hey, V. Hand me the cutters," he said. His voice echoing slightly in the confined space.

"Hey, V?" she question with a highly insulted tone.

"Yes…V. Where are the cutters…V?" he said mockingly. She carefully handed him the cutters and kicked his leg. The mech grunted, but continued working. The length of wire went slack and Velocity obediently coiled it back onto its spool. The pearly white mech began tossing tools and bits of debris out of the access panel he was lying in. She gathered them up and heaped them into a lose pile while the engineer shimmied out of the opening.

Rising to his knees, Wheeljack attempted to power up the console and the new computers it housed. A low hum filled the room and the blank screen started glowing as Cybertronian glyphs moved across it. The mech slipped an arm around her hips and gave them a triumphant squeeze. She wiggled out of the embrace. If 'Jack noticed her discomfort, he ignored it. "Let's get a drink while the computer goes through its start up sequence." the jubilant mech suggested.

Velocity couldn't help but laugh. "What? It's Miller time already?" Wheeljack gave her a confused look. She waved it off and tried to come up with an excuse to not drink with the engineer. He wouldn't be dissuaded, they were going to have a drink, he wanted to reward the best assistant he had ever had. She snorted. "I'm probably to only assistant you've ever had."

"Not true, but you have lasted the longest," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

It took several trips to return all of the tools to 'Jack's workshop. Velocity still couldn't figure out how the mech produced anything useful in there. The only clean surface was the worktable in the middle of the room. The counters were piled full of random odds and bits. While she was standing there, one such pile collapsed and purged its contents onto the floor. Wheeljack looked at her and demanded that she not touch anything. She didn't even try to explain that she had been across the room when the crap fell unaided; it just wasn't worth the effort. As Wheeljack stowed his tools away, she hesitantly pulled a length of grey piping out of a mound of junk. The pile it came from quivered slightly, but remained in a semi stable heap. She froze in place, cutting her optics to the mech across the room, and waited to see if he noticed she had disturbed his clutter. He didn't. Giving the tube a flick with her finger caused it to ring out in a crisp, clear note. Her attention immediately side tracked, she started digging around and found several similar pipes.

"Hey, Jack. Can I have these?" she asked as she held up the pilfered piping.

The mech nodded in affirmation, never looking around as he rummaged through a cabinet. Velocity took his lack of concern as permission to carry on and continued her scavenging. She procured a couple of flat metal discs, some short lengths of wire, a tear drop shaped piece of glass or similar material and several more oddities that caught her optics. The femme laid her finds on the worktable and examined each item in turn. "What are you going to do with that junk?" the engineer asked as he sat a cube of high grade in front of her.

"I'm making something. I need to cut these pipes down, whacha got?" Wheeljack played assistant and teacher for the femme. She would request a tool, and he would show her the proper way to use the equipment he handed to her. In turn she listened and learned. It was evident the inventor was curious to see what she was making. She teased the inquisitive mech, telling him he was just going to have to wait, and chuckled when his shoulders sank sullenly.

Velocity didn't realize how much she had missed working with her hands. It had always been more than just an income, it had been a passion. The happiest she had ever been was when she was molding a piece of metal into something extraordinary. Before fate had destroyed her life and a Decepticon had destroyed her body, she had been a renowned jewelry designer. She made and sold tiny works of art for the sole purpose of adorning the human body.

None of her exclusive clientele knew she had been a half human; a freakish crossbreed, something that never should have lived. He mother's people had been an ancient species that learned how to harness the elements and bend them to their will. Her ancestral line specialized in fire conjuring, but her father's human blood mutated her abilities. She had received mankind's affinity for metal, making her one of the few that could shape all alloys to her will. When the Autobots attempted to save her life, they moved her consciousness and soul into a metal construct of their design. Being able to listen to the tune and harmony of her new body, made parts of her adjustment easier than expected. But it had come with a price. She could no longer use her powers. The first time she had attempted it left her drunk on the power surge. The second time had taken her hand, and she was surprised that had been all she had lost. Now that she was sitting as a living metal mechanoid, drinking high grade and receiving pointers on how to make cleaner welds was mildly…ironic.

The two of them talked about nothing of importance while she worked. When the mech began his second cube he started telling her about how he and Ratchet met. She couldn't help but laugh when she heard the embarrassing details about their first drunken interfacing, and how, after several millennia, they decided they were stuck with each other and bonded. He told her how their duties kept them away from each other most of the time, and they never really had much of a chance to establish a proper bond.

She asked what he meant and the laid back mech shrugged. He explained that the more joining or sharing there is between a couple, the stronger the bond; the stronger the bond, the more the mechs involved depended on each other. He and Ratchet had a bond, of sorts, they could experience each other's emotions, but they could also go long stretches without being near each other. In the end it had worked for them, so they saw little reason to change things. She briefly considered telling 'Jack about her dilemma, and then rejected the idea. Optimus was their leader. He was respected and admired by the others; she wasn't sure if divulging that type of information could damage their image of him. Also, Prime was a rather private individual, what they shared was behind closed doors. She was becoming used to the differences in the way he treated her when the others were present, verses when they were alone, and she doubted he would appreciate anyone talking about him. Perhaps, she could figure out some way to ask Wheeljack questions without them being too obvious.

She meticulously removed any burs off the metal pieces, and 'Jack sat a second cube in front of her. She watched him with a tiny amount of trepidation as he started his third. "Did you hear about Mikaela?" he asked out of the blue.

Velocity looked up from where she was securing a piece of wire to the end of a pipe. "No. I've been meaning to ask if she was feeling better."

The mech's optics twinkled with delight. "Ratch said that she is only suffering from Dawning Illness," he slurred slightly.

It took Velocity a few seconds to figure out what the drunkard was trying to say. "She has morning sickness! How far along is she? Does Sam know she's pregnant?" Velocity felt a rush of excitement knowing a friend was going to have a child. New life was always something to celebrate.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. It's a secret. Only Mikaela, Ratchet, Optimus, 'Bee, you, me and maybe the twins know. She doesn't want _anyone_ to find out until after the wedding."

Velocity wondered who "anyone" could be since apparently only Sam was left out of the loop on this one. She dismissed it as none of her business and raised her cube of high grade in a toast. "Here's to future Witwickies, may their kind always grace the surface of the Earth and forever stand under the sun. Here's to it being her and not me." The mech looked at her quizzically, and shook his head. He brought out two more cubes and placed them on the table.

The femme looked at them suspiciously. Maybe, she should cut lose a little, after her run in with Ratchet she was in need of some relaxation, and her favorite form of relaxation was in Washington. Taking the offered cube she let the room temperature liquid make its way into her system and processor. What could it hurt? She was with Wheeljack after all.

_**XxxX.**_

**KABOOOOOOOM!**

The concussion wave knocked her smooth on her aft, and her audios were ringing so badly, she doubted she would ever hear again. Velocity looked to her left to see that Wheeljack was still standing; a look of radiant pride in his optics. The mech was saying something to her. She knew this because the little thingies on the side of his head were lighting up like strobes, but for the life of her she couldn't hear him. Hopefully, it wasn't important.

Velocity was desperately trying to control the giggles as the engineer reached down and took the detonator form her hands. He had been right, that was the fastest way to get rid of the rubble pile that took up space at the furthest end of the airport. It had been the remains of a couple of buildings a seeker had leveled. There wasn't much left now, just a big, gaping, smoking, charred hole.

Flaming debris started raining down on them; splinters of lumber, some rocks, and various other charred bits fell to earth as gravity reasserted its dominance over the air born clutter. Velocity winced as a couple of larger pieces bounced off her armor and dirt poured from the sky. If it bothered Wheeljack, she couldn't tell, the mech never flinched, even when a twisted ball of sheet metal clipped his shoulder. He was oblivious to the debris dropping from the sky around him.

Several men in fatigues were running in their general direction. They were followed by one pissed off looking ambulance, which came to a sliding stop and transformed into an even more pissed off looking Ratchet. She didn't move. She couldn't; the white mech next to her had started listing to one side, and nonchalantly, put a hand on top of her head to stabilize himself. This drew another snicker from her vocal processor; they had to make a cute image.

"What in the name of Primus's pistons are you doing!?" Screamed the really pissed off medic. Everyone present covered their auditory receptacles, except for Wheeljack; had he let go of her head, she was sure he would have toppled over. A lap full of drunken 'Jack was not on her list of things she wanted to experience before she died.

"Hiya' Ratchet." the blitzed engineer yelled back. "Did you know the human military has some really nice stuff called thermite, and they keep some right over there?" Wheeljack pointed to a newly erected building nearby. "Anyways. I was thinking with little reworking, it could be used to get rid if the slagging slag pile that had been littering up the grounds. And it worked," the engineer sounded like that was the most surprising part of all of this.

The CMO stammered several times before he could articulate his thoughts. "Why the frag is she here?" He demanded pointing at the dirt and soot covered femme.

"Why's who here? Oh, her? She's my assistant," Wheeljack exclaimed proudly. Velocity did her best to look as assistanly as possible; it was difficult with her aft in the dirt and her legs splayed out in front of her, but she thought she managed it rather well.

Ratchet narrowed his optics and glared at her. "She's over-energized!" he exclaimed. Looking at his partner with the same intense stare, he threw his hands in the air. "You're both over-energized. How much have you had?"

Velocity shrugged, she had lost count at three, but held up two fingers, just to be safe. Wheeljack had lost all interest in the conversation and was watching a nearby two-by-four burn.

The human corporal ordered all of his men back to their posts. "The Autobots can work out their issues without an audience." The dark-skinned man walked away pinching the bridge of his nose, while pulling out his cell phone. _He might want to take something for that headache _the femme thought to herself.

As they were being taken back to the base, Velocity nudged the engineer. "That was fucking awesome!" She exclaimed in soot covered glee.

"Yes it was," agreed Sideswipe, who had witnessed to entire event with his twin. "You know, dear brother, had we attempted that we would have already been dismantled."

The yellow warrior snorted with disgust. "That's because we aren't tweaking the Boss Bot's diodes."

"Wait, I thought Wheeljack only made service calls for Ratchet."

_**XxxX**_.

**A/N: **I have forgotten to thank everyone for adding my little drabble to their favorites list or alert list. Thank you.

Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. There may be a few this week. It's just not safe to type while jacked upon Tylenol Cough & Cold and green tea.

To **Northwest Sage **- Thank you curtsy. To **Punk Autobot **- Glad you found Sides amusing. Enjoy it while it lasts, the twins will get to show their nasty side later. Poor Sam. He is going to have to get use to a different life. To **Crimson Starlight **- LOL. You're not a glitch. Thank you for reading. Reviews are loved, but not mandatory (even the crazy rambling reviews that make me laugh.) Ramble away, deary. I am glad you are enjoying this so far. There is lots of drama planed for the future. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Sam's life has changed on so many levels; he just doesn't know it yet. To **Okami-chan **- Thank you. Velocity is very aware of what she has lost. To **PandylBas** - Pity Keller. He has his hands full protecting the country and babysitting a bunch of alien robots, which have their own agenda. To **Novamyth** - Here ya' go!! To **VAwitch **- Thank you. Hey, Lady. Where have you been? I haven't seen much of you on the net. wanders to journal Damn woman, don't work so much. It'll kill ya. Glad you're reading, sit back and enjoy. To **Benjamin Bradt **- blush thank you. You deserve credit for this and you know it. Let RL calm down and I'll send you the next chappy.


	5. Prowl

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**Beta Read by**_**: Benjamin Bradt**_**, **_my teacher, critic and frequently, co-conspirator. Thank you for all of your help and guidance_**.**_ Without it this story wouldn't be near what it is. __

_**XxxX.**_

_**Prowl**_

_**XxxX. **_

Space, despite the glittering sea of stars, planets, moons, quasars, and other astronomical bodies, was a vast ocean of emptiness and solitude. The distance between one point and another was almost unfathomable, and few races had the longevity and stamina required to conquer the cosmos; the natives of the planet, Cybertron, were one such race. They could transverse the galaxy with minimal effort, and treated the bleak emptiness as nothing more than an annoyance, easily spending eons moving through the voids between worlds.

The Autobots had done that very thing; they had scattered looking for the Allspark, and when that quest failed them, they searched for their leader. Optimus Prime and his circle had literally disappeared in the blackness of space; no communiqué, no lingering trail to follow, nothing. Even in their most desperate dreams, they never expected to find the Prime, who had been missing for so long, it seemed impossible for him to still be functioning.

Like lightning in the night it came; a signal, from the Prime himself, calling for the Autobots to regroup on a distant world. At first no one believed it; it had to be a hoax, some trick of the Decepticons to lure them to a trap. But . . . what if it wasn't? What if the Prime and his crew had survived? The source of the message had to be investigated.

A team of seven was hastily assembled and sent out, armed with only the last desperate grain of hope for a world torn apart by betrayal; without the Prime, the Autobots would erode like sands on the shore for he was more than a leader. He was a symbol of what they were, a focus for the energy and spirit of the Cybertronians, he was the embodiment of life, knowledge, faith and strength; a standard few could ever live up to, but most tried anyway. No one had expected them to succeed, but they did, and found the Prime fully functioning. The response on Cybertron had been one of incomprehensible joy. They had found their leader and that alone ignited the flames of hope in a race that had forgotten what it was to dare to dream.

There were enormous amounts of work to be done though; small bands of mechs that had become stranded on desolate worlds needed to be retrieved, the Decepticons were still a threat, but without their charismatic and fearsome leader, they had splintered into several smaller factions that needed to be neutralized; the secured areas of Cybertron had to be rebuilt, and the Prime to reestablish his place as the leader of his people. It was the tip of the slagheap, but it was a start. A start to a future no one believed could have existed.

_**XxxX. **_

The Ark cut though the infinite blackness with ease and grace; she was one of the last Vanguard Class ships still in service, sleek and powerful, a symbol worthy of awe and fear. She was the best the Autobots had ever created, and now she was dying a slow death; her hull showed battle wounds from the innumerable altercations Prime and his crew had had with the Deceptions. Over the vorns, she had taken too much damage and had not received the best of repairs. To save her, she would have to be almost completely rebuild, and that just wasn't feasible. Some of her systems were offline and she couldn't maintain orbital stability around anything larger than herself. An entire fuel cell had to be jettisoned, due to a leak. She had been put through her passes and received abuse no one had dared dream about; she was tired and she was done. Now, the Ark was on her last voyage; delivering a small group of refugees to their leader, and then sacrificing herself to be cannibalized by those very mechs she had protected and served. It was a noble ending for the noble craft. Every part of her would be salvaged and reused, she would become a part of those she had cared for. It was their way.

A lone mech stood on the bridge of the great ship and looked out to into eternity, his cobalt optics reflected off the glass and back at him. He wouldn't meet their gaze. They were filled pain and loneliness, scares from a war that had taken almost everything from him, leaving him hollow and haunted. Turning he walked back to the upper level of the bridge, stopping by a station to check and recheck the readings. Going back to the pilot's chair he bent over to make the needed adjustments.

Prowl couldn't bring himself to sit in the pilot's seat. He justified this by believing it was just easier standing, it saved time since he had to move from place to place to see the other readouts, and pilot the ship alone. He repeated this to himself and to the others on board; reinforcing the logic behind his actions. The real reason he refused to sit in the pilot's chair was because it had belonged to his brother.

He knew Jazz was one with the Matrix. He had felt the brutal slice of pain and the consuming void that replaced his connection to his brother. It had happened without any warning and had startled him so badly, that he had dropped his weapon and doubled over during a firefight with a rogue band of Deceptions. It had cost him one of his team members, who had been counting on him to keep the enemy pinned down. A loyal mech had died because of his inability to control that part of himself. Brother bonds were strong, but not as strong as mate bonds, not strong enough to garner such a reaction. Most of the time the bond could be easily ignored, for it did not eat away at the spark if the there was a separation between individuals. The connection was there before the siblings came online, and brothers had little say as to who they shared the connection with. In truth, he could barely tolerate Jazz, and had spent so much of their lives exasperated with the flamboyant mech. Primus, why did it hurt so much now?

When he had first contacted Prime, he requested to know which of the original team members were still functioning. He had heard the sorrow in Prime's voice as he listed the names of only three other mechs. Jazz had not been one of them. Prowl didn't ask and Prime didn't volunteer, he would press for details only when he and the commander were face to face.

Only after he and Hound had the refugees safely on board did he seek out the First Lieutenant's private quarters. Standing outside the door, he stood staring at the blank door. A million reasons why he shouldn't be here filtered through his processor and not a one of them sounded valid, even to him. Primus, they hadn't talked in vorns and rarely had much to do with each other before the war; they were just too different. He required blissful silence and Jazz thrived on noise. Logic and order were always of the utmost importance to him, while his brother reveled in barely contained chaos. He thought of another set of brothers with similar qualities that had driven their planet to war. As his hands shook with unaccustomed nervousness as he pressed the controls to open the door, it slid into the wall with barely a whisper. The door hadn't even been locked. It was if his sly brother knew he was coming. Stepping into the darkness, for the first time, Prowl entered his brother's quarters.

For the next several cycles, he went through the saboteur's files. Almost half of the data was devoted to the schematics of almost every Decepticon vessel and outpost they knew of, and a few Prowl had no idea even existed; details of ventilation shafts, security measures, supply shipments, and the names of enemy mechs that could be bribed and with what were present and clearly labeled. Prowl was amazed. For all of these years he thought that his brother had carried out his missions helter-skelter with little concern for preparation. He never could have been more wrong. What he was looking at was simply brilliant. Old mission logs were carefully written and notes made for future improvements. Prowl immediately copied the data and sent it to his personal files; and to think, Jazz never once completed a report, because that wasn't 'his style'.

He also discovered a huge collection of music; some from distant star systems, but most of it came from Earth. He went through every file available; opening it and listen to what was inside. Sometimes the melodies were calm and soothing, soulful instruments played with exquisite skill. Other times it was a chaotic noise made of fast tempos and harsh rifts. On more than one occasion he could imagine his brother running after Bumblebee, wanting the scout to listen to what he had just discovered. Prowl quickly finished going through the files and erased everything not of importance.

At least Jazz had made it to Earth. From the vast sampling of music that the saboteur had collected, it sounded like his type of place. Prowl wondered if he was going to be able to tolerate a world that produced such an abundance of cacophony. Closing and locking the door, the tactician turned his back and headed back to the ship's bridge. They had injured mechs onboard that needed Ratchet's skills and time was against them. He had spent too long thinking of the dead and needed to concentrate on the living. Prowl didn't have time to devote to the memory of his brother as he piloted the Ark to Earth. A couple of the other Autobots had offered to help, but he refused them. It was easier being alone on the bridge of the personal carrier, than with the personal. The continuous movement and mental exertion kept him busy and focused on anything but his losses. He rechecked the course and scanned a nearby asteroid field for enemy ships trying to hide among the frozen rocks and ice.

The Ark speed ever closer to the yellow star and the small blue-green planet that held the future of the Autobots.

**XxxX.**

**A/N: **Yes, I know it is short. Hey, at least it's Prowl.

To **Elariel**: I was wondering if higher education had finally destroyed your sanity. Thank you for reading and reviewing. I am glad you like it so far, and yes, there will be many wrenches thrown. (not all of them by Ratchet) To **Punk Autobot**: LOL. Have to have Wheeljack blow _something_ up. Chemistry sucks. I weaseled out of that by subbing 9 credits of geology. Alluvial plains, baby. To **Northwest Sage**: Thank You, but all credit for that goes to Ben. He didn't like it and wanted to rewrite it, and now you can experience his genius. Take a bow Ben. **To Ladyofthebookworms**: Rofl. Isn't that the best way to handle things? J To **flyingtwinkie: **And there will be fallout, just not all at once. Lets just say Velocity has the deck stacked against her. To **tiamat1972**: Thank you. She is accustom to being on the outside looking in, and shortly she will be in the center of it. To **Ben: **blushes Thank you. Don't be inspired by me, I'm just a silly housewife who writes fan fiction in an attempt to keep the brain from liquefying. Instead, be inspired by the glory of life, the innocent laughter of your children, and the vastness of Heaven and Earth.


	6. And Tempers Flare

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**Beta Read **_by: **Benjamin Bradt**, teacher, beta, editor, co-conspirator and co-writer. Thank you for everything, you have pushed me to try just a little harder, and your additions and occasional total rewrites have made this so much more. Everyone, thank him too, his input can be "seen" throughout this chapter.

_**XxxX.**_

_**And Tempers Flare**_

_**XxxX.**_

Fuck, her head hurt; Velocity was convinced that forty-thousand overly exuberant Irishmen were merrily River Dancing inside her cranial plates; the pounding staccato thrummed from her optics to the back of her neck supports. Unable to find a sharp object to extricate her cerebral interlopers, she whimpered piteously and tried to find a more comfortable position. Rolling over, she noticed a data-pad next to her face; it was blinking expectantly, sending pulsing rays of agonizing light into her optic relays and demanding her immediate attention. She growled at it, but the obscene device didn't budge; fearlessly standing its ground, it refused to stop the infernal blinking. She reluctantly reached over and picked up the data pad, immediately feeling an unusual weight in her sluggish hands. Angling it so she could read it without sitting up, she opened the file with her name on it. Oh joy of joys, it was from Ratchet. The medic had left her a series of maintenance instructions to be carried out, as well as a lengthy and detailed report about the effects of excessive high grade consumption on the Cybertronian body; D.A.R.E. for Autobots, how…thoughtful.

"Step 1: Get your slagging aft to the showers before the dirt settles in your gears and makes them seize, even if you do deserve this condition for having your head shoved so far in your own tailpipe that you exist in a state of nearly total inversion." She could hear his gruff voice echo condescendingly in her head.

"Witty," she grumbled with absolutely no inflection, as if she could actually walk right now. The thought of standing up brought another wave of excruciating pain, her body's way of telling her to lay still. She decided that her living metal form knew more about its condition that she did, so she did exactly, nothing.

There were several other colorfully phrased directions she was suppose to follow "immediately and with posthaste". _Yea, Ratch, I'll get right on that, _she brooded miserably. Finally, she read the mech's true reason for leaving her such comforting words. The text informed her that her "completely glitched, mostly short-circuited processor was relieved from all duty until the CMO deemed her capable of functioning; which would happen as soon as the universe imploded from entropy and then rebuild itself".

"Well, Ratchet, I hope you're happy." The words were harsh and empty as she tossed the data pad to the floor. She rolled back over and offlined her optics and slipped into the blissful nothingness of a high grade induced recharge.

_**XxxX**_.

When she powered up again, the dance crew's numbers had dwindled to about ten thousand of those damnable, jigging Irishmen. Hopefully their fellows wouldn't return. Never in her life had she thought Potato Blight was a good thing, but it did have its merits. Rubbing her temples, she reread the information on the data pad and decided to follow at least some of the medic's advice. A shower sounded _very_ nice.

Sitting up proved to be a little harder than she had anticipated, more like she was swimming in a pool of molasses; her body refused to respond, and when it did, it acted as if rust had settled in all of her gears.

After three tries, she made it to her feet, stayed there, and while moving as little as possible, she stumbled towards the shower.

Velocity watched the grit and grime mix with frothy white bubbles and slide down the drain as the high pressure solvent washed the soot from her chassis. The pulsating jets felt wonderful as they messaged her delicate sensors, easing some of the tension that had build in her system. She adjusted the dials to shut off the cleaning solution and turn on the warm final rinse. Now if only she could stay where she was and allow the water to wash away her trouble, unfortunately, H2O couldn't help with her situation; Ratchet was furious with her and there was no way she could make him see what she saw. She only hoped that Optimus would be more willing to listen to her; he was much calmer and more patient than the medic, surely he would listen to her input and see the wisdom in her actions. But before all of that, she needed to clear her head and get the cobwebs out of it before she talked to her mate, as well as find a way to put a good spin on her more recent exploits; being heralded as the down fall of Samuel Witwicky was bad enough, not to mention she had let Wheeljack talk her into sneaking into the military's storage depot, as well as engineer and detonate a Class III thermite incendiary. In her defense, she had been more inebriated then the mech, besides, it wasn't like two intoxicated mechs were ninja-like or stealthy; she still couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that two giant robots had broken into the storage area, in broad daylight, and made off with the explosive material without anyone being any wiser, or even asking them what they were doing.

_Wonder whose ass was in a sling for not noticing that? Oh, shit._ Optimus was going to have a rigger fit, and she was going to be caught in the middle of it. "Well, fuck-itty fuck fuck mcfuckerton," she sang tunelessly to herself. Maybe she could just slip out and conveniently disappear; surely she had a good chance of making it on her own, maybe even a week or two, before some Decepticon found her and put her out of her misery.

Letting gravity remove most of the water from her body before she exited the showers, Velocity decided it was time to talk to Wheeljack. Ratchet had been angry with his mate, and she wanted to make sure that the engineer was still in one piece. If he was, she might have to dismantle him herself for helping her get into this mess. Leaving a trail of watery footprints behind her, she headed to the workshop.

She found the doors to 'Jack's workshop closed, but not locked. It was a good sign, meaning that the mech was in and working, but not working on anything delicate or volatile. Tapping a couple of times on the blast doors, she alerted him to her presence. No one ever walked into the shop unannounced, it was just too dangerous, and humans weren't allowed in there at all. She cautiously entered Weeljack's workshop, looking over her shoulder to make sure a lime green nightmare with flashing lights wasn't sneaking up on her; she had done enough to stay on his 'bad list' for the rest of eternity

Within seconds, she found herself face to face with a very distraught engineer. His optics had lost their usual twinkle and his shoulders slumped in misery. A quick movement caught her attention as the mech moved his hand to conceal something from her. Normally, a situation like this would make her curious; currently it only made her tired. She had had enough of Wheeljack's antics to last her a while. If he was messing with something he shouldn't be, she would take no part in it, she was sober enough to make good judgment calls _this_ time. Stepping aside, the mech allowed her to enter.

"How are you feeling?" He asked while shoving his hand into a pile of clutter on the counter.

_Not very subtle are you? _She thought, and then reminded herself not to get involved. "I'm mostly shitty, with a virulent case of pissy. How about you?"

The mech shrugged listlessly in response; the normally jubilant Autobot was acting like a puppy that had messed a Persian rug. Maybe he'd had this coming, but even if he deserved it, she felt concern for him. Forgetting her anger, she only saw a friend that needed help, and with so few friends, the couple she did have were more precious than spun gold. She laid a hand on his arm. The engineer jerked away like he had been stung, and moved to put some distance between them.

"I'm sorry," he stated hurriedly, "I shouldn't have offered you the high grade. It never occurred to me that, considering your relative inexperience with your Cybertronian physiology, you didn't know how to handle its effects. I assumed you knew what you were doing when we…uh…borrowed the thermite." The engineer's voice was full of piteous remorse.

Velocity stood there with her mouth hanging open. _Did he just allude to the fact that he had been fully cognitive of his actions at the time? _She didn't know if she wanted to slap him or laugh at his audacity. The thought of doing both flashed through her processor, but she doubted anyone would understand the rational behind the conflicting actions, so she closed her mouth and shook her head. "Jack…"

He held up a hand to interrupt her, his beseeching optics muting her voice. "Please, just . . . let me finish," he said quietly. She just nodded silently, all previous thoughts of laughter washed from her. He was dead serious and his dispirited demeanor was starting to frighten her. "I'm sorry, I . . . didn't think. I don't pay enough attention to such things, and I will bow at the feet of Primus and swear that I had not considered that I might have overstepped myself. Can you forgive me for offering you such an inappropriate position as assistant?" The pearly Autobot had bowed his head in morose submission. _Was he seriously pleading for forgiveness?_

The burnished femme was left speechless, her eyes looked to the ceiling and then behind her in hopes to discover something, anything, to help her deal with this. A mélange of emotions cascaded through her; shame at feeling as if she had done something wrong and offended Wheeljack, fear that he might no longer wish to be her friend, burning pain at the empathy she had towards the pearlescent mech and his piteous optics, it was a disorienting surge of emotions. Her soul ached in her chest; screaming out in a deafening roar, this was stupid, and wrong, and she would not, could not, be expected to sit silently and deal with more disapproval. "What . . . the . . . fuck . . . are you talking about, 'inappropriate position'? Exactly, what do you mean by that? I know I'm not the best or brightest of the bunch, but fuck, I have to learn somewhere! Stupid me, I thought you didn't mind teaching the poor, pitiful, uneducated femme," Her words were harsh and bitter in her own audios. She knew she had a long way to go to be half as capable as a true Cybertronian; the Autobots had already expended an inordinate amount of time and energy training her. If she seemed to grasp something it was treated as if a hurdle had finally been passed, and every failure rewarded her with their disappointment, and Optimus's patient words, "Try again". When she thought about it, she felt as though she was a burden, as if she was a horrible person for not being smarter, she was a great inconvenience to them all and they could not toss her out because it wasn't her fault that she was so _inferior. _Most days she busied herself and her mind enough that she didn't think about her overwhelming inaptitude at her new life. She frequently had to convince herself that the gruffness in which Ratchet and Ironhide spoke to her was just part of their natural demeanor, or that the twins really weren't snickering at her shortcomings, they snickered at everybody. She never expressed her feelings of inadequacy and hid them as deep as she could in her soul. The only relief from her…deficiencies that she could find was with Optimus, and their relationship was complicated, or with Wheeljack, and now, one of the people she thought she would always be welcomed and accepted by, was cowering at her feet as if he were some orphan child, and she the great dragon Maleficent.

Wheeljack extended a trembling hand toward her, moving to touch her arm. "Velocity," he addressed her cautiously. "Ratchet told me everything…"

She swatted the engineer's hand away with a harsh, metallic 'clang', sneering at the mention of the medic. "Well then, perhaps Ratchet would favor this poor ingrate with a dummed-down version, since he apparently knows more about what's going on than I do!"

The engineer cringed like a beaten dog; part of her felt like a bitch for making him do that, while part of her wanted to blast him apart for looking at her like she was some sort of condescending, slime coated monster. Fortunately, for him, mentioning the medic had redirected her fury towards a more . . . suitable target. Wheeljack would probably just curl up into a ball and serve an impotent effigy, but Ratchet would scream back and fight back and give her every ounce of the sadomasochistic explosion she craved.

Spinning on her toes, she tried to storm out the door, but a hand clamped over her arm preventing her departure. She furiously confronted the mech stupid enough to touch her. "Don't go and pick a fight with Ratchet." The engineer said with abnormal forcefulness, "The twins were caught sneaking a dried plant called cannabis on the base. They were planning to try and sell it to the soldiers, and Ratchet is mad enough to rupture his hoses. I haven't seen him like this in a very long time. Just stay away." The forceful voice took on a pleading tone, "I can't order you to not go; I don't have the authority, and I doubt you'd have the desire to obey it if I even did, so I'm asking you, as a friend, to stay away." The engineer shoved a box that had been sitting on his work bench into her unwilling hands. She had no choice but to take it, or let it fall on her feet. Looking inside, she saw an assortment of tools and metal scraps. She didn't want it and almost threw the box back at the pearl white mech, but decided against it; she was still angry, hurt, confused and now she had a box full of crap in her hands. Completely unable to express herself at that instant, Velocity stomped back to her quarters, her baleful rage unrequited.

_**XxxX.**_

He _had _been looking forward to returning home, but not now; now, he had almost as many problems waiting for him here as he'd had in Washington. Resigned to his fate, he followed Bumblebee as they made their way through the security checkpoints that now surrounded the Autobots' base. A couple of men saluted as he slowly rolled past them; he was flattered, but he wished they wouldn't. The meaning behind the gesture made him uncomfortable.

Pulling in front of the new building that concealed the underground entrance to the Autobot base, Optimus scanned the area out of habit. He noticed and logged every change that had occurred since he had left, and knew that the two mechs with him were doing the exact same thing. During the height of the war such constant vigilance meant the difference between life and death; subtle changes could betray an enemy presence, as it had many times upon finding once-friendly strongholds looted and filled with angry Decepticons. It was the fact that the humans he was familiar with were carrying on as normal helped take the edge off of his worries. But sometimes, old fears and old habits couldn't die.

Ironhide sent an unspoken "all clear" signal, and the three vehicles transformed into their bipedal modes. Some of the military personal stopped to watch and some didn't, drawing a clear line between those who had survived the earlier Decepticon attacks, and those who had just come to relieve the dead.

Optimus walked towards an item he noticed during the sweep of the area; four pipes were suspended from a metal disc and a single piece of solid glass hung on a length of wire in the center of the pipes. The entire device was suspended from the corner of the roof of their building. Almost as if heralding his approach, the autumn wind stirred the odd object, the pipes and glass bumping and colliding with each other to produce a symphony of random, crystal clear tones. Optimus had seen such instruments hanging from the roofs of human dwellings. Shaking his head, he followed Sam, Bumblebee and Ironhide home.

_**XxxX.**_

The blue flame danced along the surface of the dark grey metal. The alloy glowed as the heat agitated its molecules; loosening their bonds and turning something rigid and unforgiving into something softer and more pliable. She had to be quick, forceful and gentle to mold the metal into the shape she desired. Not enough force and it wouldn't bend. Too much force and it would break. Picking up a set of pliers, Velocity started twisting the heated strip of metal into a spiral shape. It was a laborious task, taking most of her strength. She had to reheat the material several times because it cooled quickly; unable to retain heat like most of the alloys she was familiar.

She could feel the way the alloy was bending and knew she had taken it about as far as it could go. _Just a little more_. The spiral broke as she tried to tweak the curve, a sharp 'tang' echoing off the walls around her. In a fit of frustration, she flung the metal point across the room. It struck the wall, hit the floor and rolled until it was resting against the box her supplies had come in. The box started smoking and flames leapt to life where the heated metal had come in contact with the flammable material.

"Oh, fuck a buzzard!" The femme exclaimed as she doused the burning box with the liquid from a water bath she had been using to cool the smaller bits she had finished. With the welding torch in one hand, she used the other to wave the smoke and steam away. Bending over to inspect the soggy damage she forgot to pay attention to the welder and the blue flame grazed across her thigh. The yelp of pain was followed by a torrent of swearing in two languages. Continuing with her verbal assault on all of creation, she shut the flame off to the welder and inspected the damage to her leg. It wasn't severe; the paint was burned, there didn't appear to be much harm done to her armor, but it hurt like hell. She closed her optic shutters and slid down the nearby wall. Maybe she should just give up? Totally, completely give it up. Nothing was working right, nothing was going her way, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the powers that ran the universe were conspiring against her.

After she had returned to her room, she rooted around the box Wheeljack had given her and found almost everything she would need to do metalwork. With nothing else on the day's agenda and boredom rearing its hideous head, she immediately went about sorting and organizing a workspace. It had turned out to be much harder than she had thought. The wind chimes she had made on a whim were simple; basic cutting, drilling and wiring. What she wanted to do was much more advanced, and she had to relearn everything she knew. The temptation was strong to tap her powers and just will the alloys into the shape she had in her mind's eye, but she resisted. Her new living metal body made that sort of manipulation difficult, or nearly impossible. To shape metal, she had to force some of herself into the material, and now it was almost impossible to tell where she ended and the substance before her began. Previously, the difference between flesh and metal was clear and she rarely injured herself. Now, she barely had a clue to the extent of the damage she could cause herself. Banging the back of her head against the wall a couple of times, she cursed metaphysics, and its inability to provide concise answers. She had hoped that sculpting would keep her busy and purge some of this frustration from her, and in a way it had helped. She had to push side the torrent of emotions to be able to concentrate on the task at hand. It wasn't quite the Zen like meditation of orange robed monks, but for her tumultuous spirit, it was about as close as she could get.

Velocity slowly stood and looked at the mess in her quarters. She started picking up and placing the items back in the charred box, splattering water with every step. She could feel a familiar presence stir within her soul. He was stoking their shared bond, a warm sense of knowing comfort slowly crept to her. It was his comfort, not hers, which she felt. Since Optimus had left for Washington, she had become very aware of these touches, and the glow of simple pleasure he would share with her. She knew what he was doing; caressing her in a way no one else could, and in those moments, she didn't doubt what they were. After the glow faded and the moment was over, her brief reprieve was interrupted by the overwhelming insurgence of insecurities and fears, but this time was different; this wasn't a brief rub, he hadn't pulled away from their connection, but rather he was pouring more of the blanket-like warmth into her. She chuckled to herself thinking about the effort he was putting into this. Then she heard the deep melodious voice through her closed door. She couldn't make out the words, but the cadence and rumble could only belong to one mech.

Standing, she dusted herself off. Taking light steps she quickly crossed the small room and paused at the door. She could hear another voice, this one was also deep but more drawn out…Ratchet. The door in front of her could have been an impenetrable force field, for there was no way she could have crossed the threshold, and that made the promise of his reassuring proximity seem like a cruel joke. A flicker of anger came to her from Prime, and in an instant, the warmth was gone; he had slammed shut the pathway to each other's hearts, cut her off. The connection was severed.

_**XxxX. **_

"What are you thinking? Have you blown a circuit?" The medic was now standing, both hands planted squarely on the desk that separated the two of them. "Primus, Optimus, be logical! She is a loose cannon, like a Decepticon scatter bomb in an energon storage! Can you actually sit there and tell me you are not concerned about the repercussions of her actions?" Ratchet fumed with disbelief.

Prime was deathly still, his voice even and calm. "I am more concerned about the repercussions Sam has to endure, now that the world knows his identity."

The CMO leaned over the desk, his posture stiff and imposing. "If Velocity had not have acted in such a thoughtless manner, then perhaps the Earth would still be oblivious to the existence of Samuel James Witwicky." Ratchet was certain that the young man they all called friend had just been handed a death sentence. He had seen what humans were capable of and feared that the man would succumb to the species' own violent nature. Worse yet, the thought of anything happening to Mikaela or the unborn child made his energon freeze within his fuel lines.

Optimus sighed. "Sam wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Do you realize that almost every person there has already had their identities posted on various websites? Sam and I spent that night talking with the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations and the President's Press Secretary. Surprisingly enough, what they told me sounded a lot like what Velocity told you. I will agree that she did act in haste, and there were better ways of handling the situation, but doing nothing would have been just that, doing nothing. We do need to cater to the human media if we are to expect the humans to accept us among them." Sitting his elbows on the desk, he pressed his fingers together and rested his chin against them. He was the epitome of calm self assurance as he stared down the glowering mech.

"Optimus, I think your feelings have clouded your judgment! We have two, no . . . three Witwickies, in our care and that femme you indulge to excess, has just painted large, red, targets on them!"

Jumping up, the Prime slammed his palms on the hard surface of the desk, his optics narrowing in anger as the cool liquidity of his words turned into jagged shards of deadly ice. "She didn't paint a target on them, we did! We were the ones that should be held responsible if one of them is deactivated! Sam has been a potential target since he first drove Bumblebee to his house. Why do think that I asked you to build the protoforms? I realized that one or all of them could be felled by a human bullet, just as readily as a Decepticon's hand; the act of transferring their essence seems a poor repentance for their sacrifices, but if it is all I can offer, so be it." Prime straitened to his full height. Slowly reaching behind him he adjusted his chair, and with great dignity sat down. It wasn't often he started to loose his temper, and he had to regain immediate control.

"Have you not heard a word I have said?" pressed the medic. He knew he was starting to venture into dangerous territory. The Prime's wrath was a terrible sight to behold, seconded only to Megatron's cruelty.

Optimus picked up a data pad and focused on the triviality of parts shipments; he was furious and felt as if his back was against a wall, and the pressure was beginning to wear thin his already taxed patience. The CMO was walking a precarious line, and he didn't want to lash out blindly, no matter how much the impassioned Autobot might benefit from a hard fall from his pedestal. "I have heard your objection to this and it has been noted," he said with clipped words.

"But Optimus…"

"Ratchet, don't press the issue," He warned with a deep growl. "I have not said a word about how you handled either the Twins' or your bonded's . . . indiscretions. I disagree with the actions you chose in wake of their frag- . . . lack of judgment, but I respect your decision and will not undermine your authority." The calm, unflappable vestige that was Prime had once again reasserted itself, and like the stars long dead, the light of its burning fury was but a memory.

The medic threw his hands in the air. Was he the only one who saw the obvious here? "Their indiscretions didn't put our human allies in direct danger!" He yelled at his superior.

"I could easily argue that their activities, separately or combined, could have jeopardized our tenuous relations with the U.S. government. Fortunately, for all parties involved, they have chosen to excuse our mistakes and accept them as the cultural differences between our species…"

"But to reward such reckless behavior…"

Prime's aura practically crackled visibly with power and dominance; he was the leader of their people, and even though the members of his inner circle were expected to treat him with a casual familiarity, there were limits. "Are you questioning my judgment, Councilor?" He asked in the now rarely used High Cybertronian dialect.

The effect on Ratchet was immediate; the mech knew he had taken his argument as far as he was allowed to, and was being reigned in. "No Prime, I support your decisions in all things," He answered with the same formal language, the once raucous anger now as chilled as the metal exterior of the Prime. Informal relation or no, he had exhausted any avenue of introspective he shared with the leader, and Optimus Prime's decisions were absolute.

_**XxxX. **_

It had been several hours since she had heard his voice echo in the base, and in that time, she had cleaned up the watery mess in her room. Alone, and left to sit in quiet introspective, the anticipation had turned into bitter resignation. Ratchet had made it to him first; the devil's advocate had won, and probably filled Optimus' audios with enough information to choke a manganese mule, or what ever voracious creatures roam Cybertron. She would never have a snowball's chance in Hell of defending herself, not now; the medic had already turned Wheeljack against her, why not Optimus? With hindsight being what it was, perhaps she should have informed Ratchet of her intentions instead of just barreling ahead; he _was_ the senior officer while Optimus was gone.

It was so hard for her to adjust; she had spent most of her life alone or answering to just her father. She was used to making snap decisions and dealing with the fallout later. The Autobots were a military unit; a loosely defined military unit, but a military unit none the less. They had a recognizable hierarchy, and decisions were made after debating all possible outcomes. She was going to have to control her independent streak and learn to…dare she say it…conform. Admittedly, she didn't want to give up that part of herself; she had always been independent, answering only to her internal morals, a whimsical soul defined by her indomitable will. There was precious little of her left as it was; gone was her flesh, her name, and for all practical reasons, her abilities. If she gave up her individuality, the last vestige of who and what she was, or had ever been, would she be anything but an autonomous metal shell? She dimly wondered if the Cybertronians had some equivalent to a psychiatrist, a silicon Sigmund Freud, or cadmium Charles Jung.

Stretching out on her bunk, she looked at the ceiling. "Tell me about your mother," she said in a retched German accent. "Well, you see, I didn't have much to do with my mother. She was all furry and had big claws and pointy teeth, the better to eat you with." Her imaginary shrink had no useful insight, just an atrocious bill she refused to pay. Hiding in her room wasn't getting anything accomplished; inaction could only make matters worse. She couldn't argue her point doing bad impersonations of Freud. She had set precedence; she was capable of acting without their approval, therefore she didn't need an invitation to walk into Optimus' office and have her say. Smiling at her own warped sense of logic, she threw her legs over the side of the bunk, and covered the handful of steps to the door. Determination straightened her back and…she jumped like a hyperactive Chihuahua as the door opened and Bumblebee was standing on the other side, his fist raised as if to knock. The sky blue optics shined happily as the scout said, "Optimus would like to see you in his office."

She flinched involuntarily. "I'm sure he would," she said dryly. The scout stepped to the side so she could pass, and she walked around him with faux confidence. She couldn't help but notice he was smiling at her. Wishing she could enjoy such a carefree attitude, she slowly walked towards Prime's office, mentally adding the shackles and armed escort awarded to any death row inmate on the final walk.

Optimus was sitting behind his desk, his fingers forming a chrome steeple as his azure optics skewered her soul. Her first impulse was to falter and beg for forgiveness, failing him was unconscionable. It took her a few seconds to realize he was not alone; Ratchet had taken a place off to one side, leaning against the wall. The medic looked like he had been sucking on lemons when she entered the room. Apparently, the old 'Bot didn't want anything to do with her. The air in the office was heavy with tension and it felt like a thunderstorm was in the immediate vicinity. Sensors in the end of her fingers tingled from residual electricity.

"Velocity, please have a seat. There are some things we need to discuss," Optimus said while motioning to the chair in front of the desk.

"I think I'll stand. It seems more appropriate," she commented softly. Now was not the time to show weakness. They weren't going to be casually discussing the weather; had they been, she would have been more than happy to curl up in a chair. She also admitted to herself that if she was standing it would be easier to escape if something went horribly wrong.

For a fleeting moment, confusion crossed the Prime's features. It was gone as soon as it appeared. He continued, "Did you instruct Sideswipe to call Sam?" he asked.

Velocity managed not to roll her optics. "I would have called Sam myself, but texting gives me a headache and Sides' is faster at it." It was the truth. Texting did give her a headache, and do not ask her to surf the web without a computer. That was not happening.

"Ratchet has told me of your reasoning behind your actions. Is there anything else you would like to add?" He asked with reasonable tones, almost as a father might question a wayward child.

"I'm sure Ratchet has told you all you care to hear. I could give you my view of events, but I'm sure that would take up valuable time. Let's face it; I did what I did because I am a selfish slag who can't stop thinking about her own petty amusement for more than a nanosecond. Isn't that right, Ratchet?" Cutting her optics sideways, she could see the medic look away. Guilt? Insecurity? Perhaps he didn't like the fact she wasn't groveling. The medic had a tendency to bully his way around and want people to submit to his demands. For now it was Prime that had her attention, but once this was done, she was going to have a few choice words with the nosey medic . . . provided she was still a functional entity. She'd seen prime vent cataclysmic fury when the situation called for it, more than enough power crackled in his servos to rend her like moist newsprint. Optimus placed his hands, palms down, on the desk and was staring at her with open concern. Then she felt it; a small brush along her soul, it was a questioning reassurance, a calming wave that was trying to wash over her. She didn't want him to affect her that way, and that was what he was doing. He was trying to influence her emotions, from the inside.

"Velocity, I had called you in here to offer you the position of Cultural Expert for the Autobots stationed on Earth . . . but I see there are a few other things we need to discuss." The mech's words were calmly spoken, but there was a sense of urgency to them.

A job?! He was trying to offer her a job?! Of all the ludicrous things she had ever heard. "That sounds like a bogus job title to me, 'Cultural Expert'. What does that even mean?" She couldn't help but give them a bark of bitter laughter. She tried several times to say something, but the words wouldn't come out right. At the moment she felt like she was stumbling through a nightmare that refused to make sense.

"Of course it sounds bogus, it is. We've never had one before. Take the position you intolerable femme," The CMO said with exasperation.

"I don't want it," she said. Every syllable felt like she ended it biting her tongue, if she had had a tongue. "You have offered me something I don't deserve, and I'll not have you insult me, Prime. I fucked up, Doc over here made me well aware of how much damage I did, so don't treat me like a chi-" Velocity's tongue refused to finish the word as anger flashed in the red and blue Autobot's optics. She could feel the burning fury snake along their bond, only to recede seconds later, like the backlash from a whip.

"Ratchet, could you allow us some privacy?" Optimus asked in a quiet voice that frosted the room.

Ratchet, as eager as he was for a good scrap, couldn't have left faster had he been in vehicle mode. As the door shut, Velocity was left alone with Optimus, and real uncertainty entered her. She didn't want to be here, anywhere but here; something was going on here, it moved like a leviathan in dark waters. She could feel its wake, but she had little idea to its enormity or nature. Fear was starting to slip into her thoughts, and she wanted out of the office, it had become a coffin in her mind. She remained rooted to the spot, as Optimus took long minutes to observe her in detail. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable and she dropped her head submissively, her chin practically on her chest.

"We have some things to discuss," he said. His deep voice rolled around the room like a death toll. She sighed; her shoulders sank in defeat, waiting for the sword to fall. "First off," started the Autobot commander. "Do not drink high grade with Wheeljack. He has a slight tendency to play with explosives when he gets over energized." A humorous lilt softened Prime's words and made Velocity look at him without raising her head. His expression shocked her; gone were the vestiges of anger that she felt seeping across their bond, and in their place was an expression of subdued mirth; Optimus had even angled his head in an attempt to look her in the face. It might have been funny had she not been so confused.

"That would have been nice to know a little earlier," she said cautiously. The Autobot's chuckle caused her to flinch, then relax a little. What ever had enraged Optimus earlier had either been dealt with, or was temporarily ineffectual. She knew the big mech well enough to know that he didn't hold onto his anger very long. She was comforted in the fact that those dark emotions hadn't been directed at her, but it would be prudent to remain cautious.

"Secondly," he continued. "You will take the position," he stated in a 'matter-of-fact' tone.

"No." Unlike the unquestionable iron of Prime's voice, her tone was meek; it quivered with hesitancy.

The mech blinked a couple of times like he couldn't understand the word she had spoken. "I will not accept that answer," he said good-naturedly.

"You're not going to get a different one." Her confidence was returning and it gave her words a little force.

"Why?" he asked. "You have an understanding of human behavior that we are lacking. You have lived most of your life trying to pass as a human, and now you are trying to function as a mechanoid. Your perspective is unique, and could greatly aid us in our attempts to co-exist with mankind."

She sighed. "Optimus, my knowledge isn't unique. Anyone can learn what I have through observation. You are smarter and more observant than I will ever be, and in a few years, your understanding will surpass my own. I'm not an expert." She made a noise that sounded like a snort. "Hell, sometimes I can't even explain why I think certain actions and reactions make more sense than other ones. _And _I make mistakes all the time. I misread gestures and expressions, and you want to stake our future on my hunches. I have spent the week hearing how my actions may have put people in harm's way. I can never forgive myself if I make a decision and someone I care about gets injured . . . or worse. . ."

A silver hand came up, halting her self-reproach. "You do not give yourself enough credit. Your knowledge has been complied over a lifetime, your lifetime. One thing I have noticed is that organics have an instinctual understanding a mech will never have. I do not expect you to produce a logical argument, nor do I expect you to be correct all of the time. You will make mistakes. We all do. I too have made grievous errors in the past, but your influence would not be the final say, my decision would, as it has always been. I value your observations and input, so please, please accept the position."

The red femme stood in silent thought. This was the worst idea that had ever been presented to her. And every reason she could come up to not take the position, he shredded and discarded with casual ease. "I need some time to think," she finally admitted. Optimus nodded sagely, and she left his office. In truth, she did need time to think, time to think of better reasons to turn him down.

_**XxxX**_.

Later that night, Velocity lay in the dark, staring into the bottomless shadows as she chased her thoughts in an unending circle, never quite reaching the end; every time she tackled a question, some new distracting thought would draw her away, and once sufficiently diverted, the old questions would only elude her further. She did not know how long she labored in her futile pursuit of enlightenment, but eventually the greater will of the macrocosm took pity on her, and she slipped into a deep recharge cycle.

Sometime later, another presence disturbed her rest, and luminescent green optics opened to a set of azure ones that glowed dimly in the shadows. Optimus gently touched her arm, his fingertips lightly tracing along to her hand, the gesture warm and reassuring while his eyes were quiet and insecure. The mighty Prime of Cybertron could squelch the verbal slings and arrows of humanity, but after the day's many rages and uncertainties, he was unsure of whether or not she would let him into the place most dear.

She patted the basin of her recharging station, and the massive Prime climbed in beside her, moving his awesome frame to eclipse hers in the intimate act of 'spooning', her back against his chest as his arm curled protectively around her waist. He gently grazed across her audio receptors, "In Washington, when all of those humans were watching the interview, I have never felt so small, or my actions so closely judged. The one thing that gave me strength, staring into the faces of so many people who could so easily embrace us, as they could rise against us, was knowing that there would always be one who would stand beside me no matter the decisions they made."

Velocity rolled over to face him, the questions and insecurities silenced forever. To know that he was as open as she, as exposed, as invested and afraid of failure . . . put an end to her resistance. She was intertwined, embraced, and together they became a whole.

Nothing would ever separate them.

**XxxX**

**A/N: **I hope Ratchet and OP do not seem to ooc. The reasoning behind their snippiness is simple: people that are stuck together for long periods of time do get a little pissy with each other, and Ratchet IS antagonizing OP's mate. It will become clear later.

To **Alpha Dragonwulf **- Is this long enough? Yes, this is the continuation of Sira/Velocity's development. Happy you have enjoyed it so far. To **Northwestern Sage **- Thank you. nudge nudge Ben take a bow. To **Punk Autobot **- I think I wrote that part. I do remember changing "Iceberg" to "slagheap". It gets hard to remember what I wrote originally and what Ben rewrites. Oh well, I am a little dingy from time to time and thank you. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Velocity is a snippy little bitch isn't she? To **Prime Revolver **- Thank you, I am glad you are enjoying. My skills are being molded and shaped by my wonderful beta. He is putting almost as much effort into this as I. To **Elita One **- I love Prowl too; there will be more Prowl goodness in the future. To **flyingtwinkie** - "Personnel"? Oh. # spell-check!! You should have seen me try figure out how to spell "wield" a couple of days ago J . Seriously, I can't spell. In school the teachers wouldn't even bother letting me try for the Spelling Bee. Everyone would get to go to the auditorium and I'd be sent to the library, like that upset me. To **Okami-Chan and Tiamat1972 **- I chose to make Prowl and Jazz brothers for the simple fact that in the story there are VERY few mated 'Bots. I also can't see Prowl enjoying being around someone as loud and obnoxious as Jazz is…was. Yes, they are polar opposites, such as Optimus and Megatron, but all sibling groups share some traits, and that is all of the hints I will give. To **Elariel **- Umm, people in your future profession are insane. I used to date this triage nurse…I'm glad you like Prowl, I had some difficulty keeping the Spock to a minimal, and yes, Prowl needs some therapy to get in touch with his emotions. You'll see later. To **VAwitch** - My mind is fertile ground that grows many humorous antics, or it's just full of poop and occasionally funny things drop out. Don't worry, we are working towards something dark and twisted (no gore).


	7. To Have And To Hold

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Beta Read and co-written with _**Benjamin Bradt**_**. **Thank you Ben for tolerating my endless questions and letting me use you as a sounding board. It's nice having someone I can bounce ideas off of. And thank you for helping where my skills fail.

_**XxxX.**_

_**To Have and To Hold**_

_**XxxX.**_

He raised his weapon and sighted the target in the distance. Anyone watching would have viewed Prime as the very image of quiescence; cool, collected, and completely in control. His was casual elegance; his stance sure and solid, one hand dropped to his side and relaxed while the other held his laser cannon in a firm grip. Resting his finger against the trigger, he waited for the stillness between surges of the energon that coursed through his systems. Tightening his finger, he fired his weapon, the air around the barrel's mouth coming alive with a powerful 'fwomp'; the recoil slammed into his wrist, the shock traveled through his arm and into the dampening coils in his shoulder. Every part of him worked in perfect harmony from the visual acuity of his optic sensors to the barely noticeable draw his weapon had on his energy reserves. A small explosion marked his direct hit on the target. Data readings scrolled across his heads up display. It took him a microsecond to translate and recalculated the distance; three point one one Earth miles.

_Not great._

Curling the corners of his mouth down in irritation, Prime quickly changed to a two handed stance; he fired four more rounds in a rapid volley. Four more targets evaporated in quick succession, the furthest just over six Earth miles away.

_A bit better_, the stoic figure silently mused.

Turning to scoop another handful of the targeting drones, he noticed a familiar figure walking towards him. He released more of the little six-legged machines, watching them skitter erratically across the barren landscape as they sought out random positions across the test range; he knew Ironhide couldn't resist the chance to shoot at something, and freed another handful of the crab shaped devices. The first time the humans had witnessed them shooting the drones, Lennox and some of his men thought the base was being attacked by Skorponok's offspring. It took a fair amount of explaining to convince the humans that these were nothing more than the Cybertronian equivalent of clay pigeons; as for explaining how ludicrously impossible it was for Skorponok to have 'offspring', well, who better to agonize over Cybertronian physiology than Prime's trusted CMO?

As he waited patiently for his confidant and friend to reach his position, Optimus checked his weapon over for dirt or debris. Earth was a physically beautiful planet with the varied landscapes and stunning vistas, but the amount of dust in the atmosphere could wreak havoc with their systems if it wasn't kept in check.

"Heard you yanked Ratchet's pistons," the old warrior commented without a preamble. Optimus sighed; this wasn't going to be a friendly chat; of all the mechs on Cybertron, Ironhide was the least impressed by the station of Prime, and their history was just too long and too intimate to expect any change. They knew everything about each other, and there was no room for secrets. He had wound up under the old mech's preverbal wing for well over eight and a half of his nine millions years in existence. If he attempted to use his rank to intimidate Ironhide, he would just wind up with his aft in the dirt, whipped like an insolent subordinate, so he chose to ignore the mech's comment and sight a target as the dark Autobot stopped beside him. He could hear the agitated whirr of the twin cannons, and wondered what was really running through the other mechs processor

"Am I to assume that you came out here to yank _my _pistons for chastising Ratchet?" He made sure his words were calm; he really wasn't in the mood to have a heated argument, or physical altercation with Ironhide. Over the vorns they had had many such encounters, but had yet to seriously damage each other. Optimus was fearful of the day the old mech lost one of their skirmishes. Pulling the trigger, he was rewarded with the metallic 'pop' of another drone's termination.

Ironhide's deep blue optics watched him take the shot. "Nah, I don't give a frag if you spend all day yelling at Ratch, he needs to learn to mute his vocals once in a while and keep his know-it-all opinions to himself. What has my energon boiling is what a cruel glitch you've been to your mate." Optimus turned to the black mech, the anger radiating in those optics could be felt. Ironhide could get very violent when he believed a femme, any femme had been wronged. Before he could say anything he was interrupted. "Rivet it, Prime. Had I known that you had started bonding with Velocity and then planned to leave her for two weeks, I would have pounded your cranial plates until your head was flat." The plasma cannon went off repeatedly and numerous drones meet their end on the dry, cold dessert rocks.

"I could not force her to go to Washington," Optimus said calmly; his voice remained even; Ironhide hadn't put him on the defensive…yet. "She has doubts about us, I can feel it, and . . ."

"I told you to rivet your audio port. Of course she has doubts, she isn't stupid, anybody with any computational capacity would question a relationship with you; but has it ever crossed your processor that her doubting could be caused by the fact that you almost shattered the new bond between the two of you. Primus, she isn't Elita One, and this isn't a true 'this-being-is-my-other-half, we-can-only-exist-for-each-other' spark bond. She is your _chosen_ mate and you are going to have to work on strengthening what you have, otherwise it will corrode your spark and her soul. You will survive, but she is too young, and too inexperienced to not come out of it broken and scarred. So decide your course of action NOW; either you making her your true mate and stand beside her, or cut the bond and let someone else attempt to clean up the mess."

Optimus stood looking at his old friend; he knew what Ironhide had said was the truth. He had already come to same conclusions himself after feeling her struggle with doubt while he was in Washington. He had tried to reassure her, touch and hold her through their bond, even getting so frustrated at their separation that he almost cut the trip short, but he didn't want the human government to know about their bonding. It was a potential weakness that could be easily exploited, and in the past, the Decepticons had used that weakness to it's fullest. Returning to base he had made a direct path to his mate, they both needed to reaffirm the connection, and he had been waylaid by Ratchet, and things went straight it the Pit from there. He knew he should have taken her to Washington; a newly bonded pair should never be separated. He had seen mechs pushed to the point of madness when they had been separated from their new mate for too long. Certain that the doubt had been a symptom of the damage he had caused them, he had been trying to make up for the time lost. Currently, he couldn't detect the uncertainty she been plagued by, but that didn't mean it was completely gone. Even once their bond is at its strongest, and they can once again tolerate being separated, there might always be a rift between them. A reminder of his mistakes.

Stowing his weapon, he decided he had had enough target practice. "I hope you have come to your senses and made the correct decision," Ironhide growled.

"There was never a decision to be made," Prime responded looking the warrior optic to optic.

Ironhide took his measure, pausing for several long minutes before the surly black mech responded with gruff laughter, "Good, I want to see bonding scrapes on both of your chassis."

_**XxxX.**_

"Stir."

"I did stir."

"Keep stirring," she delivered the last word in a sing-song alto. Brown eyes rolled in their orbital sockets, and Velocity couldn't help but chuckle at the man. "Hey, I'm not the one that just _had_ to make risotto for the pregnant fiancée." An airborne glob of half cooked rice went sailing over the counter that separated them. The scarlet femme deftly ducked the sticky projectile, and it could be heard splattering in the distance behind her.

"How much longer do I have to stir? My arm is getting tired," Sam whined. The young man had been lamenting that all Mikaela could eat was rice and some sort of shake Ratchet and her obstetrician had come up with. Then he went on about how she was raving about this risotto she had had in some restaurant her father had taken her to when she was younger. Velocity had hesitantly asked Sam if he would like for her to teach him how to make the classic rice dish. The young man appeared overjoyed with the offer, and she had been relieved; it wouldn't have surprise her if Sam had told her to go fuck herself, but the newly famous Witwicky either didn't blame her for his situation, or refused to harbor a grudge. Neither Sam nor Bumblebee hadn't treated her any differently since their return from DC; the yellow scout repeatedly tackled her in an attempt to coerce her into rough and tumble play, and the human was his casually irreverent, cheeky self. She could never tell them how grateful she was.

So she sat, with her legs crossed in front of her, leaning over the bar that held the cook tops; to either side she had shoved tables and chairs to make room for her larger than human mass. She felt unusually big, and ungainly sitting on the ledge in the commissary that was designed to be occupied by organics, something that only her smaller size and lighter build made possible. "Switch arms," she instructed Sam. "The stirring is what makes the risotto . . . risotto-ish . . . risotto-ey . . . whatever. It encourages the rice to release its starches, and form that creamy texture people associate with the dish. If you didn't stir it, you would have a pilaf." Again the man rolled his eyes at her. She ignored him and picked up a bottle of white wine, sniffing the uncorked vintage; she let the aroma drift across her olfactory sensors, releasing an involuntary moan from her vocal processors. "I miss that," she said to Sam, who was smirking at her. She pointed to the pot of vegetable stock she had forced her student to make; Sam obediently poured a ladleful of the golden liquid in the skillet with the rice and kept stirring. "How's your woman doing?" the femme asked.

Sam shrugged. "She has rampant morning sickness, she's moody and her boobs hurt. I think Ratchet just might be right about the whole pregnant thing," he grinned, continuing in quieter tones. "Shhh, don't let her hear you say that. I called her 'my woman' once and she grabbed a hold of . . . you know," he said while looking down to his belt. "She wouldn't let go until I yelled 'I'm Mikaela's bitch' as loud as I could."

"When was this?" she asked with infinite concern, while forcing her face to behave. Messing with a man's glory was dangerous, insulting and absolutely hysterical, a past time enjoyed by the females from a multitude of species.

A healthy shade of rose blossomed on the man's cheeks and he mumbled, "At the park, on the Fourth of July." She couldn't control it any longer and burst into peels of laughter. Sam responded by turning a deeper shade and stabbing his spoon at the simmering rice. As she regained some resemblance of composure, the man met her optics and they both collapsed in undignified giggles. "That was so embarrassing," the young man commented.

"I bet it was. Tell Mickey, she is my new hero." The femme responded smiling until she heard her facial plates groan with stress. "So, how are the wedding plans coming? You only have two more weeks of freedom, are you nervous?" she asked playfully, truly enjoying the relaxed comradory.

"We have everything lined up, and ready. And, nope, I'm not nervous; I think she is more worried about things that I am." Velocity could see the fondness in Sam's steady gaze; he really wasn't one bit concerned. This was something he wanted with all of his being. She found herself more than a bit envious. For now she had set aside her own issues with her…situation. It was hard to continue fighting against something that gave her security, comfort, companionship and pleasure. When thought about like that it was apparent that Optimus was her Prozac.

The rice in the skillet had turned back into a firm paste. "More stock?" asked Sam.

"More stock," she answered.

"Well, isn't this just domestic? Can someone please explain why an alien robot is teaching a human how to cook?" She cringed; during the morning debriefings, Optimus had reminded everyone Special Agent Simmons was going to be with them for a few days.

She was mentally kicking herself for not activating her proximity sensors. Had she thought that far ahead . . . well, it was a moot point. Quickly she tried to cover up the mistake. "I like to watch _Iron Chef_. It is fascinating the variety of foods humans can consume, and the extraordinary lengths they go through to prepare them," She said flawlessly, batting her optic shutters innocently. Sam snorted and quickly covered it with a cough.

The agent narrowed his eyes at her; the government might believe the "official" story Optimus had given them about her appearance on Earth, but Simmons had never really bought into it. The man had snooped around her like a dog looking for a buried bone; his instincts for subterfuge were keen and he knew she was hiding something. She couldn't be a mech: she didn't talk like a mech; she didn't move like a mech, she didn't act like a mech, and when others were around she had to remember to do just that. It was frustrating; she had lived most of her life behind a mask, and now that she didn't have to do so, it was tiring to continue the new charade. Briefly she toyed with the idea of just telling the man the truth. The agent had never really rattled her like he did most people, and they had even had a friendship . . . of sorts, before her mishap. She was fairly sure she could trust him; he was well connected and might be willing to help them protect her little secret. Then again maybe he wouldn't, Simmons was hard to peg, even for her. He wasn't one of the dangerous humans that proved to be unpredictable in times of stress, reacting to threats in a wholly unique and unprecedented manner. That distinction went to Lennox, Sam and Mikaela. No, Simmons was just volatile, and like a volcano it was hard to predict where, when, and which way he would erupt, but he would erupt.

Sitting cross legged and hunched over, Simmons could almost look her eye to optic, and he was using it for all that it was worth. A finger was pointed at her face and the smarmy man smiled like the cat that ate the canary. _He needs a hobby she thought to herself. Latch hook or tatting. Oh, tatting. He would be so cute with a tiny little needle in one hand and gossamer thread in the other._

"I know you are hiding something Missy, and I know that Optimus is protecting you. I plan to figure out what that something is, and then I will expose you for what you are."

_Oh, yeah. He really needs a hobby_. "And what am I, hmm? Come on, tell me." She was baiting him; she knew this, but she couldn't keep the teasing tone out of her voice. "We could play 'Twenty Questions', or I could assure you, just as Optimus has assured you, that my situation has nothing to do with national security or the human species. What do you want to do? The ball is in your court."

"Leave her alone," Sam growled while brandishing a rice covered utensil at the agent.

"Back off, Sam, his gun trumps your spoon. Stir the rice and add some more stock." Since the fiasco during Optimus's interview, and finding out about Mikaela's condition the young man had started taking a very active role in and around the base. It was impressive how fast he was maturing out of an unsure, geeky college student into a confident geeky man, but sometimes his participation was very unnecessary…appreciated, but unnecessary. "I'm waiting for your answer. Tell you what Reggie, take a ride with me and we will talk," she said. Velocity could practically see the gears turning in the agent's head. His bright, weaselly eyes glittered coldly as he considered his options. If he accepted her offer, Optimus was going to have little, white kittens when he found out. That would be impressive considering only her people normally would've had little white kittens, or cubs, on a regular basis. Even white cats don't always have white kittens. Come to think of it she had been the one of the few that hadn't been white.

"There is no way in Hell, I am getting inside you," he snapped.

She leaned close enough to plant a kiss on the agent's beaky nose, and smiled with wicked delight. He had just given her the perfect opening. "Oh, Reggie. Do you say that to all the ladies, or just me?…Sam, check the risotto, I think it's done." She stood and walked to the railing along the ledge. With an animal like gracefulness, she hoped over it and landed silently on the floor below. Humming bars from 'Secret Agent Man' she made a dramatic exit and left the

humans to their own devices.

_**XxxX.**_

The situation was almost as bad as she had feared; human weddings were the most boring events on the planet. Well, maybe not all human weddings were boring; but middle-class, Protestant ones sure seemed to be.

She glanced around to the assembled group; the humans were huddled together for warmth, the late fall weather was cool, a breeze had dropped the temperature a couple of degrees and the people felt it. Ironhide appeared to be in a deep recharging, while standing up, neat trick. Optimus looked proud and thoughtful, no surprise there. Ratchet and Wheeljack were watching the affair with interest, and Bumblebee appeared to be on the verge of tears, even if he couldn't cry. The twins were nowhere to be seen; she hoped someone was keeping tabs on them.

Velocity had never witnessed a human wedding. You have to have human friends you actually care enough about to endure such a torment for. She had seen ones portrayed on TV and in movies, but never an actual, live wedding. The only thing that made this event tolerable was the bride and groom. She did care enough for Sam and Mikaela to stand and act like she was overjoyed to share in this blessed occasion, and in a way she was. They were in love with each other and deserved this. She had even let Sam dig through her collection of gems to find a stone for the wedding ring; it was her gift to the happy couple. Then she finagled a jeweler to mount the emerald in exchange for a large star sapphire. That phone conversation had taken longer than she had anticipated, and left her with a major headache, but it had been worth it. That very same day, Sam delivered both stones to the jeweler, and the man had about passed out when he realized who he was dealing with. The Witwicky's were promised a ring worthy of royalty. She hadn't been able to barter past a plain mounting. Fame will open some doors.

The ceremony was short and to the point. There weren't any grand flourishes; no horse drawn carriages, no doves to be released at the end, no endless parade of bridesmaids and groomsmen. It was just a man and a woman, standing before those that mattered to them and proclaiming their devotion to each other. Velocity had to admit she approved of the elegant simplicity of the affair. It bespoke of a deep, true love, a statement that all they needed was each other.

Mikaela had chosen a hilltop that overlooked their demolished town. They wanted their wedding site to have meaning. A symbol that life perseveres and that no matter the past there will a future. The fact that the bride-to-be was carrying a new life within her had not been lost on those that knew.

The reception was held on the same hilltop as the ceremony and also had a relaxed and effortless feeling. Tables had been brought for the human guests, along with cold meats, cheeses, fruit and similar delicacies. The traditional cake cutting had been abandoned, since there wasn't a cake. The bride felt it was a ridiculous extravagance that had lost all meaning other than one of consumerist consumption and no one dared argue with her. Velocity pitied anyone who stood in that female's way. In a few years Mikaela would come into her own as a woman, and with the Autobots behind her, she would become a force to be reckoned with. Poor Sam.

The femme looked around for someone to talk to; Optimus and the minister were having an intense discussion, but both seemed to be enjoying it. She didn't want to interfere or interrupt, the preacher had offered to wave his normal fee in exchange to be able to meet and talk with the leader of the Autobots. Optimus enthusiastically agreed as he wanted a chance to talk with a human spiritual leader. She had a sneaking suspicion that just listening in on that conversation would make her head spin. Wheeljack, Ratchet and Bumblebee were having a three way discussion in Cybertronian, one of these days, she was going to have to try and learn the language. Optimus had been helping her familiarize herself with the more commonly used sounds, which sometimes left her frustrated and him laughing. At least one of them enjoyed the lessons. The two dozen humans in attendance were gathered around the bride and groom, congratulating them on their marriage and impending child. Actually, a lot of the people there weren't sure about the Autobots being present and stayed away form them. Nervous side glances gave away the antsy guests.

She sighed, and walked to the look out at the valley that was once Tranquility. It was so different from the first time she had seen it. Then it had been a dynamic little burg, cars could have been seen moving along the streets, lamps lighting up the buildings, a place where people raised their children. Now it was gone. Crumbled buildings exposed their interiors to the elements, waiting to for nature to hasten their demise. There weren't any lights at night now, all the power had been shut off and diverted to the Autobots' base. No children ran and laughed in the parks. The only movement was a military patrol looking for looters. From where she stood, she could see Ironhide talking with a small group of soldiers. It was a reminder of the amount of security that this event had required. Nearby but out of sight were two melee warriors, their only function was to act as backup…just incase.

It scared her. For all of the changes she had endured, this was still her world, her home. She didn't want to see anymore of it ripped apart and smashed. She didn't want the thundering footfalls of mechs to shake the ground as they marched from one city to the next, pillaging and destroying. It made her soul sick to think at how fast this had gone from a thriving community to a ghost town. She was afraid. For the first time, she wondered if Optimus and his small group could turn away the Decepticon war machine and protect the Earth.

A pat on her ankle drew her attention away from the Hellish landscape before her. Looking down, she saw a white haired man. He didn't need to introduce himself, she knew who he was. "Mr. Secretary," she said cordially with a small nod of the head.

"Please, call me John. I've told Prime the same thing, but he won't listen."

"Okay, John. Why aren't you joining in with the festivities? I heard Judy Witwicky made the salmon pate." The man at her feet visibly blanched. _Hmm, maybe Sam wasn't exaggerating when complaining about his mother's cooking._

"I wanted to see how the view was from here," he said.

"Depressing. When is the government going to allow the residents back in so they can start rebuilding?" she asked.

The Secretary of Defense paused and looked at her. She knew that expression, he was weighing his words. "The government has declared this area unsafe for habitation. No one will be allowed to rebuild."

She stood in shock. "What? But this was their home. Their lives and livelihood." She was about to argue with the man when the realization stuck. "It's because of us. You don't want anybody living near us," she said in a hollow voice.

"We prefer to think of it as a buffer zone. In case the Decepticons try to attack again there will be far fewer human lives lost."

"Does Optimus know?"

"He knows and supports the decision," Keller answered. That didn't surprise her. Optimus would support any idea or action that he believed could save lives. She wondered how the people of Tranquility felt about the decision. Did they willing accept the upheaval, or did they want to fight for their home. Most likely it was both. She understood the logic of moving the people away, but in her heart she sided with anyone willing to fight for what was theirs.

_**XxxX.**_

Standing on the pinnacle, she could see the twisted and dead landscape below her.

War had come. War followed by pestilence, famine and finally death had claimed and consumed everything. The bare ribs of buildings reached to the sky like mournful parishioners seeking absolution, but there were no longer any heavens. The stars themselves had long ago ceased burning and the moon was reduced to a shattered rock hanging above. The planet was without day or night; just an unchanging grey gloom.

She left the safety of the spire she had been perched upon, and went into the wasteland. It had once been a great city. Towers once coated in glass and marble bore testament to the skills of both mech and man. It had once been a beautiful place where learning and the arts thrived. Deep thinkers with knowledge and insight once walked these streets, and the artists painted and illustrated the glorious achievements.

Now there was nothing but desolation. The great philosophers were labeled as heretics and the artist as pornographers. A force had moved through the city. It started slowly, an insidious cancer that spread and no surgery could remove it; a malignancy that turned minds away from truth and contaminated them with fear. Oh, the people of the city eventually tried to exorcise themselves of the disease, but it had spread too far. War had drained their resources and famine crept in, the slow starvation of a population without enough to fuel itself. Weakened bodies succumbed to pestilence, diseases that killed the host with a slow and feverish wasting. Then, at long last, death came. The Apocalypse hadn't thundered in on stallions' hooves, had instead slipped in with an insidious silence. The silence of a population unwilling to stand up and defend itself against the heresies of those demanding that people be protected from themselves.

Death had been stalking her as it had the multitude that once lived here. Unlike the dried corpses littering the streets, Death had not caught her yet, but it was getting close. She stood alone with a silver spear in her hand; it was the only weapon she had to defend herself against the inevitable. There was no one left to help her, for all the others had long since perished. It had always been her fate to be the last. The one left alone and exposed, without allies or a safe haven. She had been the last of her people to walk the Earth and now she was the last to inhabit a broken city. Once she had known companionship. Once she had someone to share the night with and endure the day, but that someone was gone. For a while she had searched for him, but the heartbreak of never being able to find her companion had forced her to stop. Now it was neither day nor night and she huddled alone whenever she felt the need to rest.

A soundless whisper ticked the back of her neck, but there wasn't a breeze. Spinning, she lashed out with the vicious tip of the spear, and found the street behind her empty, except for the dead, their empty eye sockets bore sightlessly witness to what was probably going to be her death.

A noise to the left and she spun again, crouching. Again there was nothing to threaten her.

The shadow fell across her. The thing had come from behind. She refused to turn around. Perhaps if she didn't see it, it wouldn't see her. The logic was fitting of a dream, but wasn't this a nightmare?

She waited.

It waited.

They had nothing but time.

She could hear a whimpering noise, and realized it was coming from her. She tried to stop. The thing standing behind her would hear her and find her, it didn't work. The whimper turned to moans as the thing brushed against her body like a lover. Trailing caresses spoke of an intimate familiarity; it knew how she liked to be touched. Taloned hands grabbed her from behind and she screamed.

Thrashing against Death's unbreakable hold, she refused to accept defeat.

Azure optics stared down at her from the dark. Strong hands held her, keeping her from lashing out. She couldn't move, panic surged through her giving her added strength, even though it was worthless against the juggernaut that had pinned her. "Sira!" the powerful voice barked.

She froze. Only one called her by that name. Few even knew that was her true name, the name her father had given her. The name she still carried in her soul, but never acknowledged. Blinking she allowed her optics to adjust to the lack of light. Optimus was over her, restraining her flailing arms.

The door to their quarters opened and light seared across them. It burned in her relays and incinerated the lingering fog of a dream. Ratchet was hurrying towards them; the medic was a furious state. "I'm fine," she managed to say. "I'm fine. Let me go. I'm fine."

Optimus carefully released her and backed away. The big mech was visibly shaken; confusion lit his optics, and it was evident he had little clue how to proceed. The CMO was not in such a state; he immediately descended upon her, and with in seconds, had run several scans. When the medic grabbed her arm and opened the interface port, she had had enough. Only one being had permission to enter her mind and programming and that being wasn't Ratchet. "Damn it! I said I was fine. I had a bad dream. Okay? It was a bad dream. That's all, just a dream. Crap, don't you have nightmares from time to time?" Yanking her arm away from the mech she pulled herself into a sitting position and glared at the intruder.

"Velocity, we do not dream," the CMO said with a small amount of disbelief.

"Oh, come on. What do you mean you don't dream, everybody dreams. I dream vividly almost every time I recharge."

"Cybertronians do not dream; we can use recharge periods to sort through old files and code, but we don't dream." It was Optimus who commented. Velocity looked at him like he was crazy, and he was looking at her with nothing but deep concern.

Ratchet moved back and shook his head. "This very well may be normal for her. Humans haven't a clue why they dream, and frankly, neither do I. It could very well be that it is more than a biological response." The medics words were meant to calm his commander, but it had little effect. The lime green mech laid his arm on his leader. "Optimus, stop worrying." The larger Autobot cut his optics to his medic, a silent exchange was taking place and he sighed in acceptance.

"You two get some more recharge time in, and I want you," the medic pointed to the femme, "in med bay first thing tomorrow. I don't detect anything wrong; I just want to check some of the cyber synaptic connections. If this continues, I might have to look into overhauling some of your systems." It was a threat she didn't take lightly.

When the medic left, Optimus cautiously approached her, and wrapped his arms around her. He snuggled her to his chest, and reaching out to her through their bond. She could feel his fear and did her best to comfort him. The intensity of the emotions the mech was feeling shocked her; she didn't know she could stir up such powerful feelings in Prime.

"Do you care to talk about it?" he asked. His cheek rubbed the top of her head as he held her as tight as he dared.

She snorted with a mock overconfidence. "No. I can't remember enough of the dream for it to make sense." The terror she felt had started to subside, and her memories of the dream were a jumbled mess. She recalled enough to know that that the contents of that particular horror needed to fade with the dawn; if Optimus knew of the fear and uncertainty she had for the future, for them, for everything, he would worry incessantly about it. He had enough to concern himself with without adding her private apprehensions to his list.

_**XxxX. **_

**A/N: **Yea! I didn't think I would have time to finish this and get it out this week. To all my readers - **Happy Halloween!!**

**Thealchimistdragon** as been kind enough to try drawing Sira (human form). The artwork is at DA. Just remove the spaces for the link.

http:// .com/art/ Sira-101780953#

To **Ben **- Oh, stop being so modest, you know you do more than JUST clean up the cheerios and French fries. And stop teasing the readers. Just because you have the story outline…. I'll deal with you later. To **Punk Autobot **- Velocity isn't stupid, and OP has ulterior motives. To **Phoenix13 **- *hands over duct tape and super glue* Eek. I don't want to break my readers. I am glad you enjoyed the cuddle and Velocity. And, I have read some of the things you make Optimus do…naughty girl. ;). To - **Ladyofthebookworms** - Actually, Ratchet does have a surefire cure for high-grade hangovers; he just didn't see any reason to lessen the suffering. I couldn't work that in to the dialog without going WAAAAAAY out on a limb. To **Elita One **- Op has a temper, he is just has uber control over it. I hope this explains things a bit. To **Okami-chan **- I love readers that question. Really I do. I hope this helps clarify things a little. More will be explained as the story progresses. Motives and rationale will become clearer later. To all of those that have placed my little dribble on favorite lists and alerts, Thank you


	8. Critical Information

**Rating: **T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt. **Thank you Ben, I would have lost interest in this without your constant pushing. I can't wait until everyone gets to see what you have created.

**A/N: **Personally, I hate the next two chapters, but they have to be endured. And huge hugs and Thank yous to **Okami-myrrhibis **for voluntarily beta reading this and picking out my mistakes.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Critical Information**_

_**XxxX.**_

He could hear the guffawing laughter as he approached the commissary. It wasn't often that such noise met his audios, but when it did, it usually meant that someone was being gossiped about and embarrassing details were being exposed. Primus, he hoped that he wasn't the topic of discussion today. He slowed his pace and cautiously stepped into the room. Had anyone been watching him, they would have thought that he was entering a particularly large and hungry nest of rust weevils. At a far table sat Ironhide; the mech was bent over with his head cocked to side while Velocity was speaking softly into his audio receptor. The weapons specialist threw his head back and emitted another round of bellowing laughter; grinning mischievously, the crimson and copper femme had wicked delight dancing in her optics. His apprehension went up a couple more notches; they _were_ talking about someone, and if the weapons specialist's uncontrolled shaking was any indication, the tale had to be more than potentially embarrassing; it had be completely humiliating. Velocity met his optics and winked at him, a gesture that only elevated his trepidation. "May I ask what is so funny?" he inquired as he sat the data pad he had been carrying on the table.

"Oh, I was telling 'Hide a little story Sam told me," the femme answered with an enigmatic shrug and wholly guilty expression; Ironhide chuckled some more.

Optimus felt some of the tension melt out of his servos. Poor Sam - there was no telling what that man had done now. One day, the antics of that small human were going to go down in Earth and Cybertronian lore, somewhat akin to "The Tales of Skidshot". Every mech could recite from memory the legendary antics of that impetuous mech. On a positive note, they weren't talking about him. The idea of his new mate and his lifelong friend sharing stories didn't sit very well with the Prime. Ironhide stood and stretched a bit. Optimus could see the discomfort flash behind the old warrior's optics. The mech's hip was bothering him again. Prime made a mental note to inform Ratchet; Matrix forbid that the proud Autobot would ever complain or seek treatment when the old wound was aggravating him.

"I think I'll go…talk to Sam," the dark mech said with malicious glee.

"Thanks," Velocity retorted, her voice full of sarcasm. "Go rattling his cage, and he will never speak to me again."

Ironhide shrugged. "So? Why would that bother me?"

The femme gave an exasperated sigh. "If he stops talking to me, then I can't tell you all of his embarrassing stories."

Ironhide made a show of thinking things over. "I suppose you are correct. The exchange of information is of critical importance here." Chuckling to himself, he turned and left the room.

"'The exchange of information is of critical importance'? He sounds like you," Velocity said while giving Optimus a playful shove on his shoulder.

Prime sat there with the stoic dignity that only an almost immortal being could express. "Actually, I believe he is quoting a debriefing I gave a couple of years ago."

Optimus watched as the femme collapsed in peals of delightful laughter. He liked that sound. It was a rich, deep sensation that tingled along his sensors. If what he had wasn't so pressing, he would lock the door to the commissary and show her exactly what that laugh did to him. He was glad that the events of last night didn't seem to have a lasting effect on her. Perhaps, it was just a bad dream, as she had said, but he had felt the terror ripping through their bond; her feelings of despair and stark, smothering loneliness had washed over him and become his own. It took an inordinate amount of will to push the overwhelming emotions aside and call for Ratchet. Even then he had been in a blind panic; there was nothing he could do to relieve her suffering. That had left him feeling helpless and scared, compounding his own desperation. This morning, after Ratchet had made sure she wasn't malfunctioning, he went to talk to the medic. The CMO gave him few answers and only had more questions. They both tried to accept the fact that the femme wasn't at all upset over the event and said she had had worse dreams before. Ratchet was taking a "wait and see" approach and encouraged him to do the same.

As he observed the unusual creature before him, he couldn't help but think how terrible it was for organics to endure such…trauma, their own minds turning on them and forcing horror after horror on the slumbering soul. He wasn't sure he could recharge with the knowledge that nightmares might await him while he was offline and at his most vulnerable, and yet humans slept with abandon; many of them taking hedonistic pleasure in long hours of uninterrupted rest. He had even seen some try to sneak in small naps during the daylight hours, their eyelids fluttering in response to their dreaming. Organics in general and humans in particular, amazed him. Sly, green optics glowed at him. He pulled himself away from his thoughts and slid the data pad in front of her. Velocity dropped her gaze to the electronic tablet. She looked back up at him and shrugged. Barely contained mirth was still lighting her optics.

"It is a list of people that will be attending the conference tomorrow. There is background information on everyone of them. I would like you to look it over and see if you can find anything useful or suspicious."

"You've got to be kidding. You have Homeland Security, the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, Simmons and company; hell, you probably have the Boy Scouts and the local Crochet Guild doing background checks on these people and you think I can find something? Stay off the high grade Optimus, it's not good for you," she said with a chuckle and slid the pad back to him.

"Most of those agencies did the background checks for the televised interview and failed miserably. Honestly, the only ones I trust to perform sufficiently are Simmons and Banachek, and right now, Simmons is on a leave of absence. I would like the input of my own people. Ratchet and Ironhide have also gone over the data and made their suggestions. Please, see what you can do." He slid the pad back to her.

"Reggie on LOA? Why?" she asked with curiosity.

"I believe he had a death in his family," Optimus answered.

Velocity had an expression of mild surprise. "He has a family? I just figured he was hatched or grown in a lab or something." The femme paused and gave him a serious look. "I doubt I'll find anything. Keller probably has the best investigators in the government working on this. And I don't exactly have the experience or resources they do."

"Just look, that is all I'm asking." He met her, optic to optic, and saw her yield to his request. A small, slender hand took the pad and turned it so she could read the data.

Ten hours later the red femme flopped down in the chair on the other side of his desk, and the data pad landed with a resounding thud. He sat back, laced his fingers together and waited. They stared at each other, both searching their shared bond, trying to feel the other's mood.

"Nothing," she finally said. "I have exhausted every lead I can think of. I've called old college buddies, ex-wives, grown children, former teachers and landlords. 'Bee did some extensive hacking for me so I could comb through library records, cell phone bills, back taxes, banking transaction and credit card bills, you name it. I've read blogs, emails, and checked what internet communities they belong to. There is nothing." She paused. "Okay, not nothing. Two appear to be cheating on their spouses and one likes porn featuring animals. An analyst is so deep into debt; she will never pay it off in three lifetimes. A few are pillars of the community, wife, kids, savings, homes, good cars…total freaks, and nobody lives like that. It's all in there. Every little dirty and clean secret those people have."

He accessed the data pad and uploaded the information. Within minutes, his cybernetic brain had processed and categorized the information. Later, he would sift through the finer details, but for now he was content. What she found was more than had been reported to him, and was more than Ratchet or Ironhide had uncovered. The government didn't see the need to communicate the personal lives of these people he was about to play host for, and in truth, he probably didn't need to know about their intimate preferences, but sometimes seemingly unrelated information could effect or compromise a person's views or actions. The more data he had on these individuals, the better he felt. Perhaps some of the femme's paranoia towards strangers was leaching through their bond? It wasn't unknown for some personality traits to be exchanged over a strong bond, and he had been spending considerable effort ensuring their bond was as strong as it could be.

In the end, Velocity had attacked the fact finding assignment with the same stubborn determination she attacked everything and everyone else. It was all that he had asked for. They had less than twelve hours before their base was to be besieged by several dozen scientists. All present were seeking the best way to get the Ark from deep space to the surface of the planet, while doing as little damage to either as possible. For this to be successful, everybody had to be working together and have the same goals. He couldn't afford to have anyone to try and push their own agenda.

Optimus wanted his team members on alert and at peak performance. There would not be a repeat of the events of the interview.

_**XxxX. **_

After catching a very short recharge, Velocity decided that it was time to find out what had been eating at Wheeljack; every time they were near each other he acted…strange. The scientist would only address her formally, and was obviously uncomfortable with her teasing. He shied away from her when she tried to talk to him, and barely looked her in the optic when he did. Her attempts to analyze his behavior had left her stumped. She had yet to broach the subject with Optimus; Wheeljack was her friend, not his. She knew the white mech wasn't in love with her, that idea was ludicrous. He was bonded to Ratchet and had been for several millennia. Off duty, those two were inseparable and completely devoted to each other. She wasn't even a speck on his radar. He wasn't mad at her. Come to think of it, she had never seen him mad. Annoyed, for sure, but never mad. 'Jack and mad just didn't go together, it was an oxymoron. Unless, 'mad' was used synonymously with 'crazy', then it fit rather nicely. He acted like he was fearful of her. Thinking back, she couldn't remember saying or doing anything to make him think she was angry. Yeah, when she sobered up enough to realize the trouble he had gotten her into she was pissed off plenty, but he was acting weird around her before she had said anything, and the mech just wasn't that good at reading others to have picked up on her mood the second she had entered his shop.

Her feet carried her to his lab; the door was open, and the engineer was in. Silently stepping across the threshold, she closed the blast door behind her, determined that nobody was leaving until he told her what was wrong. The mech stiffened when he realized she was near, going from a comfortable slouch to having a ramrod straight back. With his shoulders thrown back, it looked as if he was at attention before a superior. He stood and moved the stool he was sitting on out of the way. "Hi, 'Jack. I was wondering what you were working on," she said in her most innocent voice. The same voice that made Optimus groan with dismay when ever she used it on him.

The scientist just stared at her for a couple of seconds. "I doubt you would be curious about what I am doing." Had there been the slightest hint of arrogance in his voice she would have been insulted, instead he sounded like his activities were of absolutely no importance. It took all of her will power to keep her face relaxed and friendly.

"Of course, I'm curious. I'm curious about lots of things," she said with a chipper voice.

He gave her an indecipherable look. Turning, he picked up a grey disc and held it in the palm of his hand. "Do you know what a Sensor Disruption and Blocking Device is?" She shook her head. "They are commonly referred to as jammers or SDBDs. The 'Cons use them to disrupt the sensory readings of their enemies. Any mech caught within the area affected by the device, is unable to translate data from their sensors, basically depriving them of vital input about their surroundings: radar, energy fields, air pressure, electromagnetic pulses, temperature variations, radiation, chemical analysis and a dozen other sensor readings are all gone. Only part of the visual spectrum and sound vibrations are left for an affected mech to try and function with. Most Cybertronians find this condition debilitating, until they adjust to the lack of data. The typical scenario for one on these devices has a base full of Autobots stumbling around trying to reboot their systems, the 'Cons come pouring in and…lets just say they have surprise and shock on their side. With in minutes, the base is compromised and few survive for long. Audio and visual systems are not compromised because the invading 'Cons need to be able to see and hear their targets."

She felt a chill slither up her back. This was sounding all too familiar. "I retrieved this one at the entrance to the base. The piece of slag you had to . . . deal with, left it behind. With some extensive repair and a few modifications, I think I have been able to produce a nice cloaking mechanism," he said with some pride.

"Cloaking, like invisible?" she asked. She refused to think about the implications of his words. The "could have beens" and "maybes" still haunted her thoughts.

"No, only invisible to scans and sensors. The modified mech would still be visible, but scanning them would produce nothing at best, or jumbled readings at the worst. Something to use to spy on the Decepticons or to hide from them."

"And how is that different that what the Decepticons were doing?"

The white mech scowled at her like she was a petulant child. "This is completely different. Their original devices covered a wide area, and blocked the signals from sensor to processor of every mech within the area. What I have done it take their crude device and refine it. Only a mech modified with the implant would be effected, but in reverse. His energy patterns would be scrambled and defused enough so any mech scanning him wouldn't register his presence, unless he was standing in plain sight. Anyone standing next to the subject would not be effected either. The only problem I've been having is that it interferes with perception and data processing, producing a slightly skewed sense of reality. Optimus won't approve of anyone being modified if I can't get that glitch worked out. I wonder what adjusting the…" Wheeljack's words drifted off in to techno babble only he could understand. Velocity found herself forgotten by the scientist as he started tinkering around with solving the latest problem on his new toy. She had several options to bring the mech's attention back to her. She chose the one most likely to have a lasting impression.

"That's genius," she cooed and laid a hand on his arm. Once the engineer realized she was touching him, he pulled away, and she pounced. Jumping forward she hooked a clawed hand onto his ever present battle mask and pulled him down to her level. They were optic to optic and only inches apart. The mech was trying to keep his balance in the awkward position. "Okay, 'Jack, what the fuck is going on between us? I'm done tiptoeing around. I want to know what your issue is with me and I want to know now," she growled the words with more menace then she had intended. Wheeljack stammered and fumbled for words. He had heard the others comment how fast the little femme's moods could change, but he thought they were exaggerating some. No one can go from happy to murderous in less than a second, unless they were severely unstable. "I'm waiting," the femme snarled in his face.

"I…Idon'thaveaproblemwithyou.I'mjustshowingyoutherespectyourstationdeserves." He said it so fast Velocity couldn't understand him.

"Slow down and repeat."

"I don't have a problem with you. I like you. You're one of the few I can call a friend," he stammered.

"That's why one minute we're best buds and then the next you act like I'm a leper? Spit it out. Ratchet said something to you, and I want to know what that something was." The white Autobot squirmed and fidgeted in her grasp. The thought that he could have easily broken away from her never crossed either their CPUs. "What did he say?" Velocity snapped.

"Ratchet told me that you were Prime's bonded," the mech answered. Panic was starting to creep into his voice.

"And that matters…why?" She enunciated the words to express the full amount of annoyed confusion she was feeling. Wheeljack's optics widened in understanding, no one had told the femme; she was oblivious to her station and the responsibilities. There was absolutely no way he was going to be the one to inform her; she could torture him and he wasn't going to say a word. The Prime had forgiven him for getting her a bit over energized, but he doubted the Prime would be as understanding if he overstepped his place and told Velocity about the life she was expected to lead, standing beside the Prime. The femme's optics narrowed a little and Wheeljack could feel the warm current of power rolling off of her. She was loosing her patience, _not that she possessed much_, mused the engineer. Without warning Velocity whipped his head back and forth a couple of times to make sure she had his attention. She hadn't hurt him, but it made him completely aware of the fact that he had an angry femme to contend with and no back up. "Spill it! You have avoided me and acted like you wanted little to do with me," she viciously snapped, "and I demand to know why!"

"No, no. I have wanted to talk; you are enjoyable to be around when you aren't intent on killing someone. But you and I do not share the same station, and it is not expected of you to associate with those beneath your station," he tried to explain without truly explaining. The optic shutters covering those startling green optics blinked a couple of times; he could practically see his words being processed. "And I assumed you would be insulted for me to treat you as subordinate. A position as assistant is beneath your station…." he tried to clarify

"What do you mean by station?" she interrupted his explanation.

"Station. The class system with which we Cybertronians rank ourselves. Prime is the pinnacle, and next came the Lords. The Lord High Protector was the highest of that class and almost ranked equal to the Prime. Laterally, there was the Council of Ancients and the Senate. Both had strict requirements for membership. Ratchet was Prime's representative to the Council and Ironhide would have been a Senator had he not turned vigilante. Anyways, below the Senate and the Council is the…"

"Why does this effect me?" the femmes optic shutters were closed and she looked to be in an intense amount of pain. He knew he was a little uncomfortable himself with her claws digging into the gap behind his battle mask.

"You are Prime's bonded, your place is to stand beside him, support and assist him in every endeavor he attempts, and he will be expected to do the same for you. You are mates, partners for all eternity; no one will be closer to either of you than you are to each other. As the Prime's bonded you should expect to be treated with almost the same level of respect he is." He really didn't want to be having this conversation.

"And," she whispered.

"And, it is a great honor to been seen as the Prime's bonded. You will be considered a vital part of the leadership of Cybertron. Even though your rank won't change, everyone will know you will have total access to the Prime and his thoughts and ideas. You will be Prime's most trusted, one his inner circle and top advisors; mechs will go to you if they seek to influence…"

Wheeljack never finished his sentence. The expression on the smaller face cut his words off; it was the look of unadulterated terror. For such a brightly colored mechanoid, she actually appeared to pale. Velocity tried to take a step backwards and tripped. The scientist rushed forward and caught her before she did any damage to herself or his lab.

"Is he fucking nuts?" she finally managed to say in a terrified voice. Wheeljack remained quiet; this was not the response he had been expecting. Almost any mech on Cybertron would jump at the chance to stand next to Optimus; it was a place of power, influence and privilege. Ratchet had told Wheeljack how numerous mechs had tried for the Prime's favor, before and especially after his sparkmate Elita had been killed. According to the medic, the nanosecond someone started fawning over him, Optimus would get a disgusted look and excuse himself, sending the clear message that that individual had been rejected. Later in the war it was looking like Bumblebee was a contender for the Prime's affections, but their relationship, while respectful and loving, was not that type of a relationship. Velocity's response was confusing to the scientist. She actually seemed horrified at the prospect of being in such a position. To Wheeljack, she was reacting exactly the opposite of how she should have been. "What was he thinking?" she stated to herself. "'Jack, I can't do this. I don't want this life. I have been so fucking stupid and so fucking blind. I should have paid more attention. I should have made him explain. I should have pounded his self-righteous face until he told me everything. But, no. I just sat back and trusted Optimus Prime, and look where it got me. I don't want to help run a planet. I can't run a planet; I can't even run my own life."

Wheeljack could see the panic in the femme's expression, tremors coursed along her smaller frame. He tried to break the tension with humor. "Well, Optimus does have a reputation for being a bit sneaky if he doesn't get his way using direct means." The green glare told him it didn't work. Actually, it told him his comment had the exact opposite effect he had been hoping for.

After a few tense and quiet minutes, Velocity regained control of herself. She had the appearance of utter calm, until he looked at her optics; they held a storm of hurricane proportions. She grabbed him by the face again, but this time the touch was softer, her hands lay gently on his cheeks, and without the claws. "Let's get something straight," she said softly while looking him in the optics. "You are my friend. I don't give a shit about rank or politics or whatever asinine concepts you robots use to divide yourselves with. You are the only one I feel like I can call 'friend' and if you ever treat me any differently I will rip your arm off and beat you senseless with it. Okay?"

Wheeljack didn't know if he should be honored or scared. "Okay," was all he felt safe to say. The female left his workshop and he sent Prime a private message.

Maybe if the commander knew what was heading his way, he could prepare for it.

_**XxxX.**_

Optimus was wondering if it would be rude to try and hire Margret Hoffman-Smith. The President had loaned the Autobots the White House Events Coordinator to help with the conference. Mrs. Hoffman-Smith had walked in and taken over and the petite middle-aged woman carried herself with the same imposing air as some of Prime's top generals. She strategized, made phone calls, and within a couple of hours had caterers, press agents and everything else she deemed necessary for the event. She even took time to listen to him and his ideas for the conference, then patted his toe and politely dismissed all of his ideas, telling him to just stay out of the way and move things when she needed him to. Being a smarter than average mech, he was well aware when he was facing down a superior force; he nodded and relinquished all control to the congenial woman. Mrs. Hoffman-Smith didn't even blink when some of the scientists had started arriving early and a couple of them were voicing their indignation about who they were sitting by, or where they were sitting. This didn't even faze the Events Coordinator; she just laughed and joked with the early arrivals as if she had expected them all along. For all Optimus knew, she might have. He was more than grateful to the woman. She handled every little complaint with flawless grace, and without her gentle takeover this would have been a disaster of an event. Optimus sent the President a small note of thanks as he watched Mrs. Hoffman-Smith tell the florist where the bouquets were to be placed.

As the hours sped along, the rest of the scientists trickled in. For the most part they were courteous and polite. They had all been briefed ahead of time on the reason and importance of this conference, and most appeared more than willing to assist the Autobots in landing their ship. It looked as if everything was going to go according to the plans of the Events Coordinator when he received Wheeljack's hasty message. Groaning to himself, he searched the bond between them and found trepidation, panic and anger - not a good combination. Pushing the connection open a little further, he tried to get a better sense of her turmoil. She noticed his intrusion and shoved him out.

_Frag it! _She had realized she could do that.

The ground vibrated as the newly repaired elevator ascended to the surface. The red femme resembled a demon rising from the human's Hell. Her posture was rigid and her hands were curled talons. With her head dropped and her optics boring into him, Optimus had no doubt who her intended target was. He could see Velocity stop and look around her. Their normally empty building was filled with people, tables, a podium and vast amounts of detritus that humans require to discuss ideas. The femme's posture didn't change, but she took care not to step on anyone or anything. Not that it would have mattered, the humans moved out of her way before she was even near them. Even they could sense the fury contained within the femme. He couldn't imagine what had set her off. Yesterday, she had been in the best mood he had seen her in for quite some time. They had shared and laughed like undignified sparklings. It reminded him why he had chosen the moody, sarcastic femme to be his; she could be fun and engaging.

She approached and stopped directly in front of him; those green optics blazing. "When were you going to tell me?" she asked in an amazingly controlled voice. "When were you going to tell me that loving you came with a job description?" The words were so quietly spoken, that there was little chance anyone else would hear.

Her words had Optimus stunned. That was not what he had been expecting. Unfortunately, he had a strong suspicion he knew exactly what he meant. _Primus, he wished the others would stay out of his personal business. _It would have been best to address the issue right there, but this was neither the time nor the place. "We will discuss this later. Right now I have a scientific conference to deal with, and do not have the time to address your concerns at this moment."

Green optics narrowed to dangerous slits. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

He sighed. "Once this is over, we will sit down and I'll answer every question you have. Right now, I need you to focus on the people here and help me get my mechs and the Ark onto Earth as safely as possible."

Velocity glared at him for a few seconds, then turned on her toes only to disappear down the elevator shaft. Prime pinched the bridge of his nose. He dismissed the idea ordering the femme back to her post. As much as he wanted her to use her knowledge of human behavior to help him, he knew forcing her to do so would only cause a rift between them.

Ten minutes later Optimus couldn't believe his optics as Velocity returned with a data pad in hand. She claimed a spot at the back of the room, where she had an unobstructed view.

Optimus sent her a private message over the comm link ::Thank you for assisting::

::It's not for you. It's for them.:: she responded while looking to the heavens that were obscured by the roof.

He could accept that.

_**XxxX.**_

**A/N Continued: **Thank you to all of those that have added HOTF to their Alert and Favorite lists. To **flyingtwinkie - **Thank you, I had a lot of fun writing that part, it helped relieve some stress. Poor Sam he is about to learn about the ups and down of fame. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Yes, they are. To **Punk Autobot **- Sam has to grow up, his life will demand it. Glad you liked my stroll into frivolity, not every aspect of life their lives is serious. Ironhide is getting annoyed at his leader. To **Tiamat1972** - Ironhide is very gallant, where do you think OP learned it? Simmons has his suspicions, and Velocity can't help playing with the man. The dream came from really bad day. Good energy in, bad energy scribbled out on paper. To **Benjamin** - My dear, you make me laugh. Of course I'll keep it going, if you help.


	9. Learned Minds

**Rating: **T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Learned Minds**_

_**XxxX.**_

_Physicists, Environmentalists, and Geologists. Oh, my._

The mantra had been echoing through her head all day as Wheeljack mercilessly grilled the "experts" and their calculations, theories, and laws. The pearly mech had frustrated one man so badly that the scientist had turned a vibrant hue of purple, and his head appeared on the verge of popping from the internal pressure. It seemed harsh, but the Autobots were attempting to land a spacecraft the size of a small town; errors were not tolerated, bullshit received no quarter, and oversights earned a proverbial death sentence. The members of the scientific community, and the United States government, were starting to see what had made the Cybertronians a force to be reckoned with for longer than the Earth was in existence. Theirs was cut-throat science at it's finest, and only the best would be accepted.

Velocity leaned against Prime's trailer, one ankle crossed in front of the other, data pad in hand. In sullen silence she watched. She knew the aura of barely subdued ire she was radiating made people cut a wide path around her, and that was just peachy. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries anyways. Once in a while Optimus stole a look in her direction and she blatantly ignored the towering mech. He had made it clear that business came first, then she would be as professional as she could, and his…attentions were unwelcome. She concentrated on the device in her hand, and was starting to see the appeal of the handy little gadgets; having never been one to fawn over technology, she was enjoying having massive amounts of data at her fingertips; if nothing else it was a welcomed diversion. Accessing the pad, she called up the information on the current speaker.

--Dr. Simon Yates.

--Sixty years old.

--Graduated Some-Cum-Loudly…

. . . Even the jokes in her head were stupid, repulsive and boring. She listened to him for a few minutes before she tuned him out again. He was using words she wasn't even sure were English.

It had been like this most of the day; great, learned minds took turns standing behind the podium and giving irrefutable testimonies why the Autobots should or should not land the Ark, how the Autobots should or should not land the Ark, what everyone should or should not gain from this historic event. Scientific Principles and Laws were being quoted like biblical passages and the egos were bigger than the IQs. Some expressed concern over the environmental damage the ship might cause, or the damage it could cause when it came to Earth. It all sounded hypothetical to her, made up of mostly ifs and maybes. Optimus assured all those present that the Ark's current pilot was one of the best he had. Velocity sighed to herself; right now, the mech at the helm of the massive ship was probably the only pilot Optimus had.

As the expert at the podium droned on and used a light pointer to draw attention to some ingenious concept he had come up with, Velocity focused her attention more on scanning the audience. That was what was here for, another set of eyes to keep tabs on things. It wasn't like she had anything to add; dealing with enormous space craft was not in her realm of expertise. Watching people, however, was.

A man sitting not very far from her caught her attention when he smacked his own face during the current speaker's presentation. The look of utter humiliation and contempt was apparent, even from where she sat. She went through the files until she found information on the man.

--Anthony (Tony) Melby.

--Twenty-eight.

--Currently completing PhD in Physics, projected to graduate top of his class

--Currently employed as assistant to Doctor Simon Yates.

_Oh, now that's interesting. _Why would the underling facepalm during his mentor's presentation? Velocity watched the man for the rest of the day. He had chosen a seat at the back of the building. This didn't surprise her, only the speakers had seats at the front. The government representatives and military officials had seats behind the presenters, and the assistants and general riff raff lacking Doctorate Degrees were at the back of the room, huddled together listening and taking notes. Not Mr. Melby, however; he sat alone, scribbling insulting caricatures in a notebook. Every so often he would shake his head in disgust at some point of the presentation, and at other times, he acted as bored as she felt. She had a couple of theories about Tony's behavior. One was that he was a repressed genius; the other was that he was a total wack-a-do. For all she knew, he could, very well, be both.

What she was sure of was that the man had drawn attention to himself; even a couple of Army Rangers were openly staring at him. Odd behavior could do more than get someone noticed around here, it could get them on a special government watch list or "questioned", and that usually meant a bit of time "in custody". If Mr. Melby realized he was being watched, he gave no hint of it as he continued to scoff to himself. Velocity decided to find out about the man's unusual behavior. It could be nothing, it could be something, but mostly she was bored and very curious.

Velocity waited until there was a break before she approached the man with the mop of unruly ginger-blond hair. He practically fainted when she knelt to address him, looking up at her with eyes that grew astonishingly large behind his glasses. If this had been a cartoon, Mister Melby would be floating by the rafters at that point.

"Anthony Melby?"

"Uh-huh," the physicist said with a dumbfounded expression, mouth agape.

"My name is Velocity. I was wondering if you would like to answer a few questions for me."

"You want to talk to me?" He squeaked, and then cleared his throat. "I mean, sure I'll answer what I can. This is so cool. We were told to pretty much stay out of the way and to not even consider approaching any of you. The g-men said the Autobots were big, loaded with weapons and some weren't very friendly. I think you were one of the ones we were told to avoid. There was the scary black one, the big red one, and the big yellow one, and the little red one. We were told we could talk to the smaller yellow one, the green one, the white one provided we were supervised, and the really uber big one if he addressed us first." Having quickly overcome Velocity's somewhat crippling majesty, he rambled while making motions like he was counting on his fingers.

Velocity was starting to wonder if the man was a total nut job, at this point. _Uber big?_ She wondered how much Optimus would like being referred to as Uber Prime or Uber 'Bot.

His expression became one of almost fear, the physicist's eyes widened even more, enough so that she was genuinely surprised they hadn't fallen out. Velocity realized she was smiling mischievously at the young man as thoughts of ways to torment Prime danced happily thorough her head. She quickly changed her expression to something a little less 'cat and mouse'.

"So, Mr. Melby, Why do you act like everyone here is boring you to tears?" she asked.

"Because they are!" The answer came out as an exasperated shout that echoed throughout the room, causing those within his immediate vicinity to instantly break off of their own topics and stare at him, confused by his energetic outburst. After a handful of apologies, he added in a much softer tone, "Dude, why would advanced alien robots need to listen to these guys? They haven't done anything more scientific than quote book excerpts and make broad statements with obviously vague answers. I've been thinking about this all day, and it doesn't make sense; why the HELL would huge, mega-advanced supercomputers on legs that have mastered space flight, need a bunch of monkeys to show them how to handle their own ship? Dude, what the fuck? So I figure this has got to be sort of like a sci-fi social mixer, getting to know the best & the brightest in the neighborhood…"

Velocity tuned him out after that, and sent Wheeljack a quick message to meet her outside. She interrupted Mr. Melby's soliloquy by emulating clearing her throat, a noise that made him freeze in mid motion as if he were a deer on the highway. "Mr. Melby, would you like to meet Wheeljack, our Science Officer?" Melby gazed at her like a child on Christmas morning; she had just made his every dream come true. The man followed on her heels like an obedient puppy as she led him out of the building to the awaiting Cybertronian scientist. "Wheeljack, this is Tony Melby. Tony Melby, Wheeljack. Now tell the big, nice Autobot everything you just told me."

What followed convinced the femme that the mech and the man were speaking a language known only to them, and that they were long lost, twin brothers separated at birth…or manufacturing…or whatever. They were even finishing each others sentences. Maybe she should start a match making service? Lady Velocity's Dating Service, where speed is our specialty. As attractive as the mental image of her in a Victorian bustier with buxom bursting forth might be to some, she couldn't shake the feeling that a Cybertronian burlesque house might not be well looked upon. Anyways, she was fairly certain that her current form of unforgiving metal would just shred a lace bodice. Vibrations in the ground alerted her to who was walking up behind her. Before she could leave, a single finger grazed her back, sending pleasant shivers along her tactile sensors. It was gone as soon as she registered it.

Optimus Prime stepped beside her. He was close enough that their energy fields were mingling together. She couldn't help but respond to his closeness, and could feel him respond to her. He was teasing her, reminding her who she was to him, and if they hadn't of been in such a public forum, she would have slapped him for his audacity. It was quickly becoming apparent to the femme what it meant to be bonded. Basically, no matter how she felt, no matter what happened, she was his mate and nothing could change that. Out of willful spite, she glared at him through slightly narrowed optic shutters. The mech returned her gaze with an undecipherable look that made her more than a little nervous and then turned his attention to the other to people present.

"Wheeljack, report."

The white mech looked up from where he was kneeling. "Optimus, may I introduce you to Anthony Melby. He has been kind enough to point out the flaws in most of the calculation we have heard today," the engineer said with a chuckle.

The Prime cocked his head to the side and briefly had a distant look in his optics as he accessed stored data. Coming back to the present he addressed the young man. "You have not finished your education, what makes you think you are better informed than the powerful minds here?"

For his part, Tony looked insulted at the accusation. "I never said I was smarter. It's just that some data has been overlooked, and when that is figured in, everything changes. For example…"

Optimus held up a hand to silence the physicist. "Very good. Wheeljack, does he meet your requirements?"

The scientist just nodded and went back to talking with the young genius. Velocity could see four men trotting towards them. The head of NASA looked like he was going to suffer from a heart attack if he jogged any further; perhaps they shouldn't have met so far away from the building? Having important people go into cardiac arrest on your front lawn was never a good thing.

"Optimus, your guests would like to continue the conference," the SecDef huffed slightly.

Prime introduced the men to each other, and shocked the humans by stating that Melby was to receive the clearance necessary to work directly with the Autobots on an 'as needed' basis. He also commented that the conference could wait, it wasn't that pressing. Like a puppy with a new boy, Melby looked excited enough to wet himself. "Dude, no way. This is totally awesome. Oh, man. Wait until I blog this."

Velocity worked to keep her expression as neutral as possible. She just wanted to be away from her mate and his sneaky tactics and get back to her post.

"What do you mean 'it could wait'? We have some of the worlds top experts gathered to help you and you want to wait?" the head of NASA snapped.

Wheeljack chuckled. "Did anyone actually believe we needed help landing our own ship?"

Four sets of eyes shifted to Prime in disbelief. Optimus just stood there with casual confidence. "This is not our world, and landing the Ark is not without risks. I thought it would be advantageous to have many minds approach the problem, in the event that we might have failed to consider something. But to be truthful, Wheeljack, Prowl and Teletraan-1 have already plotted a course that will cause the least amount of damage to the ship and the surrounding environment. Also, the fact that we might be able to gather a few more allies to help us succeed in our future endeavors had crossed my mind."

The director of NASA, Marcus Calhoun, had a look of exasperation. "This is a big job interview?"

Prime didn't flinch. "We were told, by your government, to look into all possible contingencies. We already had, but no one accepted this. To appease the skeptics we held this conference. On Cybertron such events are understood to be a way of garnering potential sponsorship or advancement."

Keller laughed, Banachek shook his head, Melby grinned like an idiot and Calhoun fumed. _Welcome to my world_, the red femme thought with a touch of pique as she left the group and returned to her post.

_**XxxX.**_

She tried the code again.

The light was still red. _Shit. _

She typed her code one more time with deliberate, exaggerated motions. The door remained still, locked. She couldn't get into her room, and it was starting to piss her off. That was all she wanted, to just lay down and rest in the dark for a few hours. The conference had droned on and on and on and on; no one ranted at the Autobots, no one cried out, seeking justice, no one tied a bomb to their middle and demanded the Cybertronians leave Earth. All in all it had been a very civil, peaceful and monotonous event. She and the other mechs had remained on high alert regardless, and now, she was tired and couldn't get into her room, because the mother fucking, cock sucking, piece of shit door wouldn't open. A resonating thud echoed up and down the corridor when she kicked the offensive device.

"If you continue I will have to reprimand you for defacing property," a deep baritone commented.

Velocity laid her head on the door and growled. An idea hit and she snapped her head up. Looking over her shoulder, she gave Optimus a challenging glare. Moving just so he could have full view of the keypad, she typed in his override code.

Nothing.

She typed it again, stabbing the buttons with a vengeance.

Nothing.

"All right. What do I have to do to get into my room?" she asked.

"Those aren't your quarters. If you had checked the room assignments, you would see that you are assigned to my quarters."

She spun on the larger mech. It was times like this that she hated being so much smaller than him. She had to look up to meet his optics or stare at a spot below his waist. She sent her frown upwards. "Since when do we live together? Or was this something else you forgot to tell me?" she snarled.

"I should have changed the room roster when we bonded, but it slipped my mind. I finally corrected the oversight and moved the last of your possession to our quarters. You no longer have need to access this room," Optimus said in a reasonable voice.

Velocity just stood there. She couldn't find a coherent thought in her head. Blinking a couple of times didn't clear things up and she could feel her exhaustion fighting with her temper. The femme didn't even realize Prime had unlocked the door behind her until he pushed her through the opening and into the now empty room. He followed her in and shut the door, effectively sealing them in together. Had it been anyone else, she would have butchered them on the spot. In stead, she stalked to the farthest corner and stayed there; arms crossed over her chest and a childish pout on her lips.

The two opponents sized each other up.

"What the frag is it now? I thought you understood you were my mate, and what you mean to me," he said with frustration.

"How about what all of this means to me? How about the fact that I will be part of your 'Inner Circle'? How about the fact that I will be a public figure, The Bondmate of The Prime. I hadn't given it much thought what being attached to the leader of a planet really meant. Honestly, this scares the living shit out of me. I would rather face off against that Decepticon again than try to do what you want me to do." Her words had lost all anger and only reflected the fear in her soul. Velocity slid down the wall and buried her face in her hands. She didn't have the energy left to even put up a good show.

Silent minutes stretched on. She kept waiting to hear the sounds of Optimus coming to his senses and leaving. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard him moving around. Peeking around her fingers, she saw that the massive mech was joining her on the floor. "First, you are already part of my Inner Circle," he stated as though it was obvious.

Velocity laughed bitterly. "Everyone here is part of your Inner Circle."

"That is an inaccurate observation. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are not my advisors." She opened her mouth to argue, and promptly shut it again. He was right. The Twins were usually present for the debriefings, but seldom did they attend the planning meetings. She meet his optics with a new uncertainty. "I have told you several times that I value your opinion and insight. If I didn't, I wouldn't have bothered with spending hours just talking to you." He sighed. "I should apologize to you; for all of your intelligence, I forget that you are still adjusting to this life and in some ways you are a sparkling. I should remember that. I also assumed that you had thought about what being my bonded meant. It never crossed my mind you hadn't realized the privileges and responsibilities you would receive."

"I don't want those things," she said with a whisper.

"Spoken like the little femme that tries to fade into the background and go unnoticed. I know you have no desire for such things. That is one of the many reasons I enjoy your company. That is also one of the reasons I want you by my side. What do you think it is like for me, every time a mech or femme shows their adoration? I ask myself what is their ulterior motive? What do they want from me? Not you, you don't want anything from me." Prime's voice was heavy.

Velocity dropped her gaze to the ground between them. "I want the truth from you. I want you to explain all of this to me. I'm tired of being lead into things and told to trust your judgment."

"Your request is reasonable and understandable. I should have done this . . . a long time ago." A meek smile played along his face and then disappeared. Velocity wondered how anything weighing more than four tons could look meek.

They sat for a while, neither saying a word. Finally, it was Prime that disrupted the lingering silence. "I know you have questions."

"I don't know where to begin," commented the femme solemnly. Optimus spread his hands in invitation. "What will be expected of me?" Velocity asked.

The Prime told her what to expect from her station in life. He told her what others would be expecting from her as well. He didn't hold back; he didn't try to sugar coat any of the information she asked for. Optimus filled in the gaps of her line of questioning; he wanted to make sure she understood. He explained that she wouldn't have any political power, but she could be seen as having great influence, and others would try to influence her. She would never have to address the council, unless she chooses to do so. She would be expected to attend and participate in his meetings with his advisors. He told her there would be times they would not see each other for weeks or possibly centuries, and that it could become lonely for her. He explained that there would be places she could not go and things she could not do. The threat of Decepticon retaliation would mean she would have to have a bodyguard almost all of the time. For several hours he continued speaking until he had informed Velocity about every minuscule aspect of a life at his side. He promised her he would see to it she was educated and well prepared, and he stressed the importance of their sharing and how it forced their bond to deepen and grow, and how that would be both a weakness and a source of strength for them. He told her how he wanted to show her his world and watch her optics fill with delight and wonderment.

What he didn't tell her was how she was the only light he had; the one who he clung to in the darkness, as his mind wandered to those that he had failed.

In the end there was only silence; the fiery red femme looked pale and said nothing.

It was hard for him to watch the femme struggle with the weight of the knowledge he had given her. He felt guilty for forcing this upon her. She truly didn't want the responsibilities. Primus, he had never wanted the responsibilities himself. When he had been chosen as the new Prime, he argued and told them to pick someone else. Elita had mourned for him, and for them; she understood their lives would never be the same, but she had stood beside him and even helped him endure the burden of leadership. He still grieved for his long gone partner, and missed her quiet words of council. Forcing his needs on the female sitting near him had of have been one of his weakest moments.

As the sun tinted the morning sky, Velocity could not go on; she was running on nothing but determination and wanted to recharge. Optimus had answered her every question and she was regretting it. It was easier when she didn't have a clue what she had gotten into. This was worse than a drunken Vegas marriage to a no-name John. "Optimus, can I have some time to think?" she asked softly.

The Autobot commander nodded and got to his feet. "Will you be needing this room?"

Velocity remained seated. "Yes."

"Would you like your possessions brought here?"

"I don't know."

The Prime left the room. He was aware the small femme didn't even look at him. A dark figure was waiting for him in the hallway. Ironhide fell in step next to him. "Did you finally talk some sense into that female?"

Optimus stopped and looked at his friend. "You were listening?"

"Only from the point where you shoved her into the room. You should offer thanks to Primus that you still have a face. Sir." The last was added with more than a little sarcasm. Prime just stared at his friend. He dropped his optics and sighed. He was too emotionally wrung out to make much of an issue. He had discovered long ago he didn't have the privilege of privacy. Someone was always checking on him. "She will come around. Give her a couple of days, and if she isn't back in your recharge bunk, hunt her down, throw her down and overload her until she surrenders," the weapons specialist said in a matter-of-fact voice.

Optimus turned on his friend. Jagged, icy rage accented his words. "If I ever hear you talk like that again…"

Ironhide crossed his arms over his massive chest. "Beyond making a fool of yourself when you force me to stomp your aft…again, you'll do what? Right now, I want you to listen to me. If you make this any more of a slagging mess than it already is, I'll seat you both down and have my say about the matter. First, when Prowl shows up with the others, that little femme will probably have the surges with all of the strangers in her home. That is assuming she doesn't kill a few of them. You are going to have to help her, because the others will be stumbling over themselves trying to win her favor. I doubt you want to end up in a triumvirate with another mech."

"She wants very little to do with me right now. How..."

"Primus, Optimus. You have been given a second chance for something most mechs never get to experience, and you don't even seem to be willing to fight for it. If I hadn't been willing to fight, do you think Chromia and I would have lasted as long as we did? I fought her and I fought _for_ her. In turn, she did the same for me. You and Elita were true spark mates; you were perfect for each other. You didn't have to work for the relationship; it just was. Guess what Prime? Velocity is not Elita. If you want her to stand beside you and be there for you, you will have to do the same for her. Now fix it." The weapons specialist turned and left his commander standing in the hallway, alone.

_**XxxX.**_

**A/N: **I promise the next chapter is better. This is just some growing pains everyone needs to go through.

To **Punk Autobot **- Poor Velocity is learning her place in the world. To **Okami-chan **- Thank you. Those were both insanely hard to write as was this chapter, but I have a great partner. Op is a little over whelmed and stumbling over his own feet. You really didn't think he was Mr. Smooth all the time? To **Ladyofhtebookworms **- I'm not sure how far into the future OP was thinking. To **Novamyth** - Not as much screaming as before. Velocity is in the middle of a huge learning curve and OP going to treat her more like his mate. To **Benjamin **- Of course it was good, you helped. I can't wait until the readers get to see what you wrote. *insert evil laugh*


	10. Decepticons

**Rating: **T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-Authored with **Benjamin Bradt**. Thank you Ben, without the inordinate amount of changes you and additions you contributed, this chapter would really stink. Massive hugs.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Decepticons**_

_**XxxX.**_

What he witnessed did not compute.

He observed the ragged mechs from afar, and what he saw disgusted him. These were supposed to be Decepticon warriors; they should be feared! They should be able to take whatever they wanted and not have to worry about retribution or resistance. Instead, they were content to eek out a meager existence, selectively skimming the barest essentials from the worst stock available, with no apparent inclination to change.

He watched them while they stole fuel from the sleeping humans, fearful that discovery would bring the Autobots bearing down on them, scuttling about like invertebrates fearfully watching the skies for sharp-beaked avians. Decepticons didn't hide from the likes of simple organics, that notion was inconceivable; the organics should be living their days in constant fear of the downfall of a Decepticon foot, eagerly prostrating themselves before their mechanical overseers, worshipping them like gods.

Starscream had arrived on Cybertron with tales about how the Autobots had vanquished Lord Megatron and were now holed up on some out of the way planet. Chances of the report's validity were probable, but when that particular Decepticon activated his vocal processor, it was always prudent to verify the facts. That was exactly what had brought him to the backwater mud ball, the need to verify what truths, if any, existed in the seeker's account of the battle.

He had assumed that the human's primitive technology would be simple to deal with; locating the High Lord's remains was the top priority. He hacked into the government's computer network, almost missing the trap, so simple and unassuming. It was cleverly imbedded into the base framework of the internet, and had Autobot all over it. Anytime he attempted to access the military or governments computers, he found his way blocked. He carefully backtracked and covered all traces of his presence. There were other ways to gather the information he required. If need be, he would use more direct means to his goals.

He had been on this dirty world long enough to see its bland moon through all of its phases, patiently watching both groups of mechs. The Autobots hadn't surprised him much, going out of their way to ally themselves with the indigenous inhabitants of this planet. That was so predictable of the current Prime; his tolerance of all life forms was one of his greatest weaknesses. What did surprise him was how few Autobots had heeded the Prime's call to reassemble. He had no reasoning to explain this; had it been Decepticons he was pondering, the possibility of their deciding to leave a questionable leader castigated of his authority was highly probable, but these were Autobots, and their consistent inclination was to frivolously indulge in the companies of lesser beings. If they had been behaving like Autobots, then the new leadership of Iacon should be trying desperately to return the Prime to his seat of power. Regardless, a certain truth had been realized; a lack of trained warriors was most advantageous to his plans.

Logic was Soundwave's tool of overcoming obstacles, and for the most part, it served him well. One thing he could not logically explain, however, was the relative ease in which the Decepticon forces had been excised from Iacon. Shockwave had had complete control of the city-state. Then, talk of ghosts had started filtering through some of the mechs that had regular patrol duty. Considering the ones placing the reports, it was easy to dismiss them as fiction. Too easy…

Fuel stores were the first target, shaking the foundations of Iacon night after night with their titanic explosions. The crippling energon shortages made sentry patrols mandatory, although communication blackouts were impossible to avoid; soon patrols would vanish, their cannibalized remains resurfacing days later, strategically placed to ensure that the deactivated were easily found, and easily identified. Suspecting sabotage from within, Shockwave waited until the next attack, and every mech that should have seen something, or could have had access to the targeted facility, was executed in a massive public event. The idea was to force the troops to shore up any holes or leaks within the ranks. The deaths had no effect, and the attacks only increased.

Investigations turned up little; there was simply no evidence to pinpoint who the saboteurs were. Trace energy readings were neutral; no graffiti proclaiming Autobot superiority could be found, there were not even signs of physical presence to examine. It was if they were being besieged by restless sparks that refused to join with the Matrix. Shockwave should have been immediately decommissioned for even messaging the notion.

Unfortunately, these events did not go unnoticed by the Autobots, who had been methodically examining Decepticon fortifications for exploitable weaknesses. During an outage that left half of Iacon defenseless, Ultra Magnus rallied his forces and attacked. It took a Cybertronian week, but the Autobots drove the Decepticons out of the city, with no casualties reported. It had been a crushing blow to morale; it mattered little that they still controlled the rest of the inhabitable regions of Cybertron. Without the fortifications of Iacon, the Decepticon leaders were perpetually exposed.

The enemy worked feverishly to secure the city and they defended it with a vengeance never before witnessed in the weak sparked Autobots. Once the city was completely in Autobot control, the attacks on the Decepticon forces took a grisly turn. Mechs became the only targets of the phantom assassins. One or two a night would be found terminated. Sometimes it was a single shot, other times the deceased was found over several quadrants. The troops were scared and refused to go anywhere individually. No fewer than five heavily armed mechs were assigned for any task. It was stretching their numbers as far as they could go. When Starscream came back with tales of Megatron's deactivation, the Decepticon forces fell into total disarray, allowing the simpering seeker to place himself in the seat of power over his fellow Decepticons.

Staring at the daily chicanery of Starscream's pathetic rule, watching once proud warriors stumble around in zeal-less marches to the music of their new ruler's whining; Soundwave could not be dissuaded from departing to Earth to validate Starscream's claims. It was within the first four cycles of the blue-green orb that he had stumbled upon the perfect opportunity to wrest the Decepticons from the unimpressive rule of Starscream, and to force the Autobots from Iacon once and for all. Considering the meager Autobot presence, six warriors at most, chances of attaining the Prime's head were in his favor.

First he had to have proof of Lord Megatron's death; Starscream would serve little to resist his ascension to the throne, but if Megatron were to emerge functional, Soundwave's term of command would be short, and end poorly. With evidence of the High Lord's demise, the rest of his plan could be put into effect. He watched the Earth-bound Decepticons for a little longer. Obviously, Barricade was the defacto leader of this group. That made sense. The shock trooper was the best equipped with knowledge and experience about surviving on inhospitable worlds. He doubted Barricade had taken the other stranded Decepticons under his tutelage out of the goodness of his spark. By aiding his fellows, he was just building up defenses against the Autobots. The dangerous mech was biding his time, waiting to see who came out on top of the Decepticon forces. Then he would see to it that who ever made disparaging remarks against the new leader wouldn't survive the coronation ceremony. Barricade was very practical about such things.

Soundwave called his small symbiots to him, left his hiding place, and headed towards the abandoned building. It was time for his new subjugates to know that he was here. They had a lot of work to do.

_**XxxX.**_

**A/N: **Next week this story will be moved out of the cartoon category and into the movie category on ff dot net. Just letting everybody know.

If anyone wants to read some wonderfully written goodies, look up "**Benjamin Bradt**" here at ff dot net. Not only is he my co-author, but I consider him a wonderful friend and have no issues shamelessly plugging his work.

To **Northwest Sage **- thank you. The last two chapters are my least favorite. Those words are something every-bot should remember. To **Punk Autobot **- Optimus has a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - ROFL , humans _are _an arrogant race. **Ben **- I doubt the reader count can go down any more than it has, ff dot net doesn't have negative readership…does it? To **Novamyth **- Don't hate for the short chapter…please. They have to work out their issues.


	11. Come Unto Me

**Rating: **T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with the incomparable **Benjamin Bradt**. Thank you for changing my mistakes, writing and rewriting parts to make them better and just listening to my inane ideas and honestly telling me what you think.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Come Unto Me**_

_**XxxX.**_

He had gone over the reports for the third time and still couldn't figure out what they were trying to tell him, his mind just wasn't on the task at hand. Sighing, he tried to focus, once again, on his work.

He hated this. He hated not having an answer; being stuck in limbo was a cruel and torturous existence. Briefly he contemplated taking Ironhide's advice and tracking down the vexing femme and demand answers from her, but that would only cause more problems. The rest of the old mech's suggestion was too vulgar for serious consideration, even if it did have some dark merits. So, he waited. To all those who looked up to him as their leader, the Prime was renown for his boundless patience and irrefutable calm; to those that truly knew him, he could be a frenetic ball of nervous energy, a restless entity that paced endless miles and missed many a recharge worrying over perceived mistakes or missed opportunities.

It had been several days since Optimus and Velocity had had their discussion and he had only had brief glimpses of the brightly colored femme since. The last time was yesterday, when he'd spotted her on the firing range with Ironhide. The grizzled weapons specialist watched her practice shooting left handed. His friend was making certain she was proficient with any weapon she could pick up, no matter which hand she held it in. Even from a distance, he could see that the old warrior was speaking much more than was necessary for shooting instructions. From time to time, Velocity would stop and look at the old warrior, giving him her full attention. The two would exchange long conversations before returning to the weapons practice; but for all of the other mech's hopefully kind words, Optimus still recharged alone last night. His only solace was the fact that her meager possessions were still in his quarters, a physical prompt to maintain a shred of hope.

Everyday, he made sure his presence was visible, or that he could be easily located. When in his office, his door was open; an invitation to stop in. While out on patrol, he filed a detailed itinerary where he planed to be located and when. Recharge was limited to a couple of hours when he was certain she was doing the same. He was doing everything he could to be readily available, in case his mate chose to seek him out.

Restless, he almost wished that the Decepticons would attack something. At least it would be a diversion from the waiting.

He had no idea what would happen if she completely rejected him at this point, a thought he'd tried adamantly to avoid considering. They were connected spark to soul, and would remain so in this plain and the next. To be apart, would be absolute misery for both of them. He had endured thousands of years living through a cold, unrelenting pit after losing Elita. He knew he could survive, but he wasn't sure about Velocity.

Randomly opening a file on the data pad, he tried to make the glyphs on the screen form some sort of cohesive statement. Instead they just annoyingly danced around and refused to make any sense at all. He pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose and sighed in defeat. Off lining his optics he leaned back in his chair until it groaned in protest at the stress he was putting on it. Fully intending to stay this way for a couple of hours, Optimus initiated his power down sequences. There were some advantages to being in charge; no one was likely to challenge him if he took an unscheduled recharge. Humans called them 'naps'. At times, he wondered if the humans weren't more advanced than the Cybertronians; before learning of their presence on Earth, the humans had seemed ridiculously capable of handling their problems, either through confrontation or avoidance. He was absolutely certain that no human would ever be a psychological wreck with concern over the risk of spending eternity in a metaphorical Hell, over the sometimes unpredictable actions of a single red femme.

"So, how lonely is it at the top?" It took Prime less than a thousandth of a second to power up and be fully functioning, but he took his time opening his optic shutters. There was no need to appear as startled as he felt. Sitting in the chair on the other side of his expansive desk was the blazing red femme that had disrupted and consumed his thoughts lately. Velocity appeared…serene, as she sat with a stillness that belied the depth and vibrancy of her nature. Optimus had seen her like this before, usually after she had exhausted herself emotionally, and had nothing left. He also knew she could remain statue like for hours if something held her attention. Her optics glowed with a clear, intense green; her complete focus was on him.

He held the unwavering gaze with his own. "It has been very lonely. Outside of a couple of close friends, there has been no one for a long time."

The femme cocked her head to one side, a silent request for him to continue. In a quiet voice, he continued, "Elita and I had been bonded for a while when I ascended to the position of Prime. I found myself sharing the power base of Cybertron with a brother, Megatron the Lord High Protector. He and I worked side by side for many millennia, and Elita acted as council for both of us. Her calm, practical logic was held in high esteem. Honestly, I can say I was happy; it was frustrating and often thankless work, but I had several friends I could rely on. The three of us had fun; we joked, and laughed, and worked for a better future. Even during the early stages of the Decepticon uprising, I was content and hopeful. It wasn't until later when I realized the magnitude of the revolution, and I sought the council of Ironhide and his growing band of fighters. I believe this is what spurred my brother into action. I had suspicions that there was someone within the government relaying information to the Decepticon rebels, but I couldn't figure out whom. On Ironhide's suggestion, I quietly had several Autobots moved into positions within the council chamber and around Central. Their presence was the only thing that stopped the Decepticons from wiping out the government of Cybertron; the casualties were mercifully few, but Elita . . ." His words trailed off as painful memories stole his voice, pausing while he recomposed himself. "It wasn't until much later I learned Megatron was the one that had ordered the assassination attempt."

"And in your grief, you distanced yourself from everyone and allowed Megatron to act in your behalf. He made short work of building his own power base and initiating the final stages of his coup," the femme's simple words cut through eons of miry events and causalities to succinctly recount part of a war she was barely a part of. Optimus nodded once. He partially blamed himself for Megatron's attempt to wrestle control of the planet away from him and the High Council. Had he not been trying to grieve himself to death, he might have seen the signs of betrayal before it was too late. Unfortunately, as the human colloquialism went, hindsight was 20/20, even for Cybertronians. Green optics stared at him, commanding his attention. The quiet tension between them was as dense as spacecraft plating. "Was all of this," she indicated her own delicate chassis with one hand, "some warped scheme of yours?"

There was no accusation in the words; it was only a question, but the implication cut him deep enough to make his vocal processor lag for a few tense second. "If you are asking if I subjected you to a transference so we could be bonded, the answer is no. If you are asking me if what I did was driven by selfish motivations, then the answer is yes. I have seen too many die, and have lost too many friends; I couldn't stand the thought of loosing someone else when I could do something about it. Sira, you quickly became special to me, irreplaceable, someone I wanted to keep close and spend time with. I would have been content had this never happened, and you remained organic, even if it meant I would have to watch you grow old and die," Optimus said with absolute candor. He had understood his motivations and accepted them the day he started designing protoforms for their closest human friends.

"You will never love me as much as you loved Elita, will you?"

He sighed. "As I understand the human definition of 'love'; no. Elita's spark was, literally, a missing fragment of my own. I will never be able to care for another being as much as I cared for her. Had I been forced to sacrifice her or Cybertron, I wouldn't have been able to choose."

"Thank you for you honesty," Velocity said softly; it was her turn to suffer at the unintentional barbs of someone's honesty. As Prime watched the femme turned inward. She was staring at a spot between her and the blank wall. Finding the bond between them he tentatively reached out to her. Primus, he wished he could read her thoughts, but it did not work that way. He had to contend himself with feeling what she felt, and trying to interpret what it meant.

"Stay." It wasn't a demand, it was a request, a plea; after the long days of uncertainty, his spark was raw and he was tired of maintaining the façade. Servos and bearing tightened in pregnant anticipation; should she attempt to rise and depart his quarters, he was ready to hazard the previously inconsiderable option that Ironhide had suggested before.

Velocity shuttered her optics and sat in silence, remaining this way for several minuets. "Do you even love me?" she asked in an almost unperceivable whisper. She didn't raise her head as she spoke, almost afraid of the answer.

He tightened his grip on the arm of the chair, fingers forcing the composite metal out of its intended shape; he wanted more than anything to sweep her up into his arms in a most undignified manner, but couldn't squelch the fear that any action on his side would provoke her 'fight or flight' response in a negative way. "You have seen into my spark and yet you ask such a question? I care enough for you that I want to share eternity with you, and give you all that I have. Cybertronians do not marry and they do not divorce. Once they choose a mate it is for life, and few are willing to commit themselves to such a union. To stand beside another is the highest form of devotion we have, and I can promise you that no one living will ever mean more to me than you do."

He waited while she processed his words; touching their bond and realizing that the pain was a jumble of contradictory emotions: anger, frustration, fear, need, desire, loneliness, hope. Optimus realized the femme didn't know what she was feeling, but he knew she deeply loved him. He had felt it every time they shared, and he felt it now, wishing he could return it fully and in kind; but his depleted spark was far too broken, a wound he would never heal from, and didn't know if he even wanted too. Sending his own emotions over their bond, he let the femme feel the longing he felt, hoping she was willing to share her life with him. The small red and copper head raised, and he knew she was feeling . . . him. He didn't know what she was thinking, but he could feel her reigning in her emotions little by little. "I have one request," she finally whispered.

"Anything, just name it."

"When the others arrive, I do not want them to know that we are bonded. I would like for them to get to know me as 'Velocity', not as the 'Prime's mate." A corner of her mouth turned up in a weak smile.

"I believe that that is a reasonable request. So . . . you will stay? With me?" The smallness of his voice seemed impossible.

The demure smile she offered him was enough to send his power flow into overload, his spark threatening to vaporize the plating of his chest. Keeping his featured carefully neutral he addressed her. "I can understand your desire to be seen as an individual in your own right, and not as my concubine. I warn you, they will perceive a connection between us, and work tirelessly to discern the nature of it."

"You make it sound like they're going to be gossiping about us."

"I have learned that Cybertronians and humans are not very different in that they seek out and fixate upon the scandalous aspects of their leader's lives" He couldn't help but wink playfully, his elation too much for even the Prime's unfaltering mask to conceal. "For security purposes, I would also like the keep our relationship quiet. The fewer that know what you mean to me, the less chance there is of it being used against us. You will be a target; that you are femme is a point of interest, but the femme bonded to the Prime . . ."

" . . . Is something the 'Cons will be unable to pass up. Well, at least they'll be leaving some other poor sap alone." The femme shrugged and sighed with exaggeration, as if she had resigned herself to the inevitable and wasn't really concerned. The connection between them was completely open and Prime was aware that his mate wanted to free herself from the stress and tension of the last few days. She was forcing herself to be cheerfully flippant, and he loved her for it.

"Yes. I think you are going to require a Keeper as soon as possible."

"A 'Keeper'?" Velocity asked incredulously, "You make me sound like I need a chaperone."

Optimus couldn't help but smile a ghostly smile, oh, the comments he could make...but if the question went unanswered he knew they would be fighting about the semantics of their vastly different native languages. And the others thought she was unpredictable and impossible to contend with. "A Keeper is similar to a bodyguard, but they also act as confidant and caretaker. Ironhide has been my Keeper for vorns, and there have been times I couldn't have continued without him. The choice should not be made lightly, for only I will be closer to you than that mech. He will know all your secrets, and care for you like you were his own progeny, and he will sacrifice himself to protect you."

"You really think I need a Keeper?" the femme asked.

"Yes. Chromia, Ironhide's mate, acted as Elita's Keeper. It was a good match. Chromia also offered companionship to Elita when I couldn't be around, the older femme kept her from becoming lonely, and for that alone I have always felt like I owe Ironhide something." The Prime's words were full emotion as he remembered the rarely talked about femme.

"What happened? Was she…um…"

Optimus smiled reassuringly at the discomfort his mate was showing. She had no reason to ever become hesitant while asking him a question. "No one is really sure what happened to Chromia. One day, she and Ironhide went out, and only Ironhide returned. He said that she was gone and immersed himself in his duties. I spent cycles trying to talk to him and only wound up being punched in the face. Speculation has it that they ran into a Decepticon patrol and she didn't survive. Ironhide refuses to speak about it and I can't make him. It was a couple of orns later that the Decepticons infiltrated the femmes' stronghold."

They sat in heavy silence for a while. Unsaid words hung between them like cobwebs. Velocity knew the general history of the extermination of the femmes by the Decepticons, and he did not relish talking about it. Reaching across his desk, he rested his hand palm up.

Velocity shook her head and made a soft snorting sound. "I'm gonna regret this aren't I?"

"I thought you already did," he commented with complete seriousness.

The femme just sighed and laid her hand in his. "I'm sorry; I had to come to terms with a few things."

"I know."

Several soldiers ran by the door to Prime's office. They were headed to the elevator. Optimus stood up, moved around his desk and watched the humans run down the hall. Velocity shrugged when he looked questioningly at her, neither one of them had heard the base's alarms sound. Motioning her to follow, he stepped towards the elevator to the surface.

_**XxxX.**_

Any remaining personal issues were forgotten as the noise assaulted her audios. Exiting the Autobot's building behind Optimus, Velocity witnessed something that scared her. For a fleeting second, images of murderous peasants brandishing torches and pitchforks from some old, almost forgotten movie flittered in her mind. She took and involuntary step backwards, looking to see how many escape routs that were available to her. On the other side of the gate that served as the first check point to the Autobot base, mobs of people stood, shouting and waving homemade signs around. Periodically, a fight between small groups of people would occur. It took a few minutes for the chaos to form some sort of pattern; there were two groups present, the Pro-visitors, and the Pro-humans. One was protesting, the other was showing support, and both were intermingling like volatile chemicals, already unstable and waiting for a catalyst.

Captain Lennox appeared at Prime's feet, and the mech bent down to talk to the man. She listened while keeping nervous optics on the mob just beyond the gates. "Report," demanded Prime.

"They started showing up about twenty minutes ago. Some of my men, on the other side of the crowd, say that people are still arriving. Epps is trying to secure extra fencing. First we need to push the demonstrators back to the edge of the base; I would like to have about two and a half miles between us and them, but I doubt they will cooperate. Right now, they are too close. It would be ridiculously easy for one of them to damage equipment or personnel. On top of that, both groups are moving about freely, and a couple of fights have broken out; our medics have had to treat a couple of people for minor wounds already. Optimus, this is a powder keg just begging to explode."

"Hmm. What would have us do to assist?" the Autobot commander asked the Captain.

"We could permanently remove the disturbance," growled Ironhide as he walked towards them, cannons spinning in annoyance.

Optimus ignored his violence happy specialist. Velocity moved beside the black mech. "Some of those people are sympathetic to us; you don't want to go blowing them away."

"I don't?"

While they watched, one enterprising fool scaled the fence that surrounded the airport from the rest of the grounds. Dodging and weaving the lanky, young man avoided being stopped. He was heading directly towards them. With shocking speed, Ironhide moved to intercept the potential threat, and the errant human found himself almost engulfed by one of 'Hide's cannons as it hummed ominously. Had the man not stopped so quickly, Velocity was certain he would have run inside the weapon's barrel. As it was, the intruder wound up curled in a ball on the hard dirt, begging for his life. When two soldiers restrained him and pulled him to his feet, a dark stain could be seen on the front of the man's pants, and tears ran down his face. The event had caught the attention of most everyone present. A hush fell over the pool of humanity, while rows of eager faces pressed against the chain-link fencing in anticipation. A confusing combination of disappointment and relief could be felt coming of the crowd as the man was dragged off, unharmed. Even Prime tensed momentarily, uncertain what his bodyguard would do.

Velocity could see cameras held on shaky hands above the heads of the mob. Footage of what had just occurred will be seen round the world in a few hours if it wasn't already. This could be bad. "Optimus, they have cameras," she said.

"I am aware of that. What concerns me more is the possibility of more violent clashes between the two groups." Prime strolled forward; he radiated power and confidence as he addressed the humans. "I would like to have your attention," he commanded in a deep baritone that echoed over the landscape. "I realize some of you have come here to protest our presence on your world. That is certainly within your right to do so, and I will not stop you. I also understand that some you have come to show your support for us. My issue with this demonstration is the potential for injury to individuals of all parties. Because of this, the U.S. military is going to establish safer areas for you to hold your…rallies. This will keep things orderly, and allow the personnel stationed here to continue with their responsibilities unimpeded, and without having to inconvenience or impact your respective activities."

Some argument arose over forcing the protesters to move, until Lennox picked up a megaphone and reminded everyone about the penalty for trespassing on United States property. The hecklers quickly quieted down. Optimus continue with speaking to the crowd in a rather successful attempt to placate them. He wouldn't address their concerns directly, but he presented them with rational reasons to cooperate. It didn't hurt that half of those present were already in awe of the enormous mech and were one step away from worshiping him. Those starry eyed folks would have done anything he said. It took the rest of the day and well into the evening to relocate the protestors a safer distance from the base. Occasionally, one of the anti-alien contingency would balk and an Autobot would have to step in, but usually it took only a disapproving look to convince people to cooperate. There was just something about having a twenty foot tall, heavily armed alien robot glaring at them that made people nervous.

Lennox was trying hard to keep this as peaceful as possible; he even went against all of his military training and had his men stow their weapons and approach the demonstrators unarmed. It didn't hurt that the Autobots had already scanned the crowd for weapons and informed the Capitan who was armed.

It was during all of the raucous and barely controlled mayhem that Tony Melby showed up for his new job. The physicist stayed back and watched, completely agog, as he was escorted in by a couple of men in matching suits and dark sunglasses that stood on either side of him like bookends. It was apparent his introduction and tour was going to have to wait.

Before night fall, General Pittenger had arrived with extra soldiers and supplies. Large spot lights were set up and illuminated the area garishly. Port-a-potties were supplied, more for the benefit of those living at the base than the comfort of the demonstrators. Simmons slowly negotiated his black SUV through the throng of people. The special agent made no attempt to help; he just stood back and watched the pandemonium. As the last vestiges of the sun disappeared below the horizon, the carrion feeders showed up; circling like sharks around a drowning man, the news vans jockeyed for position. Each crew wanted the best view to deliver their spin on the events that were transpiring.

Velocity decided to ignore most of the commotion and help Wheeljack with the overly friendly pro-visitors. She didn't trust herself around the closed-minded bigots and left them to the calmer personalities, like Optimus. The continuous, blinding camera flashes and people wanting to talk to and touch her, left her wanting to see how far she could chuck a few of the friendlies. It was like herding cats, and she knew exactly how frustrating cats could be to deal with. Finally, she clapped her hands and yelled, "Let's move people. I've got a show starting in a few minutes and I would like to watch it." Chuckles could be heard as people gathered their belongings and were willing herded towards safer areas.

Once there was sufficient distance between the opposing groups that they couldn't throw rocks at each other, which had happened on more than one occasion, Optimus called a meeting "Any ideas?" Prime asked tersely, obviously exhausted from diffusing the situation.

The mechs stood in a semicircle facing the humans seated at the table on the ledge. Simmons poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the group, sitting next to the General. There was a pause as they all looked at each other.

Velocity shrugged. "Fine, I'll start. This shouldn't last too long. This is a Saturday, and some of these people have jobs they will need to get back to. I give it a week, before the herd thins down, the media gets bored and we have our little piece of the Nevada desert back."

Ratchet shifted his weight and addressed the Prime. "My concern is for the welfare of the people on our door step; they lack any sort of proper waste facilities or clean water. They only have flimsy tents for protection from the elements. The potential for disease is astounding. We should be looking into providing them with necessities."

"No."

All optics turned to Velocity. She repeated herself. "No. Bad idea. Don't give them anything. Humans are very spoiled to their modern conveniences; give most of these people a couple of days without showers and they will be happy to leave. Isn't that what we really want, for them to leave? When I was out among them, I got a good look at them. Most had nice clean clothes and brand new hiking boots. These are not your diehard 'live-off-the-land' types. They have nice houses somewhere with air conditioning, central heating, indoor plumbing and TiVo. Let them wave their signs and feel good about themselves and most will merrily go away."

"Your attitude towards the humans is shocking. The temperature has been dropping to below freezing at night and you think they can survive with nothing but a thin fabric between them and the elements. I checked; most of them only have minimal food provisions. The entire group will be without sustenance in a couple of days."

"Oh, Ratchet. Humans have been doing this for most of their time on this planet. It's called camping. Tonight they will build bonfires and small groups of people will cuddle together for warmth in the tents and sleeping bags. I assure you, the soldiers at this base are not going to let anyone out there die from exposure. Unless a particular fool just demands to be allowed to die from exposure, but that is an entirely different can of worms."

"What does a container full of mucous-coated invertebrates have to do with this?" asked Ironhide in all seriousness. Velocity had to duck her head long enough to regain control of her features. Smiling right now would be a bit inappropriate.

General Pittenger rose from his chair. "I agree with the femme. Let the people outside get a little cold and a little uncomfortable; they will start heading home. If they are given shelter and food, some may decide to never leave. Optimus, I have overseen disaster relief efforts on several occasions. What we have found is that some people do not want to go back to their lives. They are content having the three hot meals and a cot provided to them. Sometimes, we have to encourage people to leave the shelters. Simple tactics such as serving the food cold, or making it taste a little off, are usually all that is needed. This may sound harsh, but it isn't; it's forcing people to stand on their own two feet. If we . . . if you start catering to their needs, regardless of good intentions, you just may end up with a shanty town in your front yard."

Lennox chuckled. "I remember once, we had to put pickle juice in everything we made to get the people to leave. Tasted awful, but it did the trick. The worst part was that we had to eat the same food as the evacuees. To this day I can't stand pickles."

Simmons sat his coffee mug down with a resounding thud. "Oh for the love of . . . These aren't evacuees, or victims of anything. These idiots are here of their own free will. Just keep them from killing each other and call it good enough."

Optimus drummed his fingers on the railing a few times. "For right now, we will do nothing. General, I assume your men can handle this. I would prefer to limit Autobot involvement as much as possible." The General nodded in agreement. "Good, alright mechs. Tomorrow we need to start preparing for the arrival of the Ark. We have a lot to do. Everyone dismissed." Ratchet left with Ironhide on is heels. The dark mech was practically pushing the medic out of the room, while grousing about rust collecting on his chassis while he waited to leave. The humans followed, but at a safe distance. Simmons was directing the General to the human section of the base, while commenting that the beds were much more comfortable that the ones in the barracks topside.

Velocity turned to Prime. "Did 'Hide make that invertebrate comment on purpose?"

A smile played along Optimus's face. "Yes. It was his way of relieving the tension." He reached out and grabbed the femme. Pulling her to him, he wrapped both arms around her. Velocity relaxed in his embrace. To Optimus stolen moments like this were more valuable than all the resources on both their worlds.

_**XxxX,**_

The stars were dimmed by the flood lights that dotted around the base.

It didn't matter to him. He didn't require the stars for the task at hand, but he still stared at them. Searching for a secret only he knew about. It was a secret that could change the future for the Autobots.

After Optimus had sent his message across the galaxy, calling his Autobots to him, he had sent his own. It was intended for a small group to intercept and translate. It was simple and straight to the point. Today, he had received a response. He had been antsy to solve the problems with the humans, so he could get to more important tasks. It wasn't until now that he had a quiet moment to unravel the multiple codes. It took him some time to work his way trough the layers of unimportant slag. He didn't mind. It had been so long since he had received anything like this, he relished every turn and nuance the complicated message contained.

Hidden within the nonsense of cargo logs, and space port manifests were tiny, delicate bubbles of data. Each bubble was a word, and they were scattered throughout the transmission randomly. If someone attempted to open the little packets, they would burst, leaving fragments littering the message with indecipherable debris. In reality, that was all they did, they were a diversion to the real message.

Finally, he had it. The code within several other codes. His hands shook slightly as he translated to final message back to its original format.

It was simple. It was concise. And it made his spark soar.

"I am coming."

He cycled his vents deeply. Had anyone been watching the black mech, they would have barely noticed any change in his demeanor. The only thing that gave away his elation was a small smile that briefly flickered over his battle scared face. Ironhide turned to the human encampment below him. He doubted there would be any trouble from the sleeping organics, but they did have a way of causing problems. Under his watchful optics, nothing would be allowed to happen.

_**XxxX.**_

**A/N: **This chapter was insanely hard to write.

I have posted this chapter early due to the holiday, and the fact that the last one was so short. Also, I will be majorly busy getting everything taken care of. May everyone have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and if you're not from the United States, have a wonderful week anyways and stay safe.

To **Ben** - You're just biased. To **Punk Autobot **- you have no clue how bad a scheming Soundwave is. To all of those that have added HOTF to their alerts and favorite lists, I thank you.


	12. Stolen Goods

**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death._

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Co-authored with Benjamin Bradt**. Thank you Ben for your hard work and constant pestering. Thank you for the additions you have made to this chapter and all the others. This wouldn't be the same without you, and I wouldn't be having near as much fun. I feel like I should point out all of the wonderful ideas and writing you contribute.

_**XxxX**_

_**Stolen Goods**_

_**XxxX**_.

The Autobot base was a flurry of activity, but to those standing on the other side of the fence, the small area inhabited by the amazing and massive aliens was the most boring place on all of Earth. All of the preparations for the arriving starship were being made below ground or well out of sight of the gathered mass of curious eyes and cameras. The protestors were becoming bored; after that first night, when eight individual Cybertronians had been spotted, there had been an explosion of media presence. Photos and commentaries had been uploaded onto blog pages and websites globally. The world stared at images of unknown mechanoids as rumors spread as to the exact number of the massive beings now taking refuge on the planet, and what their true reasons for staying on Earth were. Just as suddenly, there wasn't a robot to be found; they had retreated to the new hanger that seemed to serve as their shelter, and hadn't been seen since. Many speculated that they had the ability to become invisible; they were highly advanced after all, so superhuman powers seemed plausible. Some argued that they could disguise themselves as ordinary objects; why else would the visitors have outer armor that resembled bits of cars. Detractors pointed out that the sheer mechanics of turning a twenty-five foot robot into a car was neigh impossible. Chances were that the aliens decorated themselves with items they found appealing. Who knew exactly what, if anything, would be considered aesthetically pleasing to a race of ancient robots?

The lack of anything more interesting than service men and women going about their daily routine had many of the pilgrims questioning why they were camped in the middle of the desert, next to a military compound that was being fortified as they watched. The soldiers tended to ignore the gawkers. While not showing any hostility, the military let it be known that they wanted everyone gone. Signs were posted warning of the dangers of hanging around the area. Basically, the United States government and the Armed Forces were not going to be held responsible for any injury or death that took place. In plainly stated words, any person that knowingly or willingly entered the base grounds, all ten square miles of it, was taking their life into their own hands. After three days, people were starting to get the hint. Groups from both sides prepared to leave, begrudging the mechanoids for not having the decency to make their presences seen.

The military had created several well defined 'viewing areas', set far enough away that there was a small level of security for the base's staff, but close enough people could see with binoculars. Those without clearance or permission were permitted to remain within the visitor areas. Taking liberties with the established and clearly defined boundaries, had left a few stalwart rebels under arrest; an unwise decision to test the military's resolve on the issue.

The reporters that had stalked the mechs with video cameras were finally starting to thin out. Most of them had families they wanted to return to, and an alien base without the aliens didn't make headlines. Demonstrators with cell phones and laptops found themselves in a dead zone; no one could access the internet and post their pictures, or check email, or stock quotes, or talk to family and friends. This frustrated those that had arrived first and discovered a WiFi hot spot in the middle of nowhere.

Life for those encamped around the base was becoming miserable; the nights were frigid and supplies were running low, not to mention the tenacious coyote population which had apparently studied under the military and developed stealthy raid tactics of their own. The nearest town, Tranquility, was abandoned; food and actual restrooms were almost two hours away, especially since all roads in and around the town were barricaded. Travelers had to detour an obscenely convoluted route around the demolished town; protesters and supporters alike were beginning to grumble that the government was making it difficult for anyone to come out here. They were right.

On the side of a distant hill, two mechanoids watched the humans as the sun burned away the last of the morning shadows. Had anyone thought to turn around and point their binoculars in a different direction, they would have been rewarded with brilliant flashes as the morning sun bounced off of alien chrome. But no one did, as few people had any idea how far Cybertronians could focus their optics.

"You are late coming off of your shift," a gruff voice echoed dully.

"Looks like they are starting to pack their gear," came a falsely cheerful reply

"Must you be so blatantly slag headed and ignore what I have said?"

"And a few days earlier than I had expected….Hey, no one died either."

The CMO glared down at the femme sitting near his feet; she had her knees pulled up and her arms tightly wrapped around her legs, not exactly an open and inviting pose, and completely contradictory to the flippant friendly tone in her voice. The medic observed Velocity while she purposefully ignored him. They weren't on the best of terms, but he didn't dislike the femme, he just wished Optimus would 'rein her in' to use an Earth euphemism. The fact that Prime and his bonded were not openly fighting was a relief to all, and Ratchet was well aware that they had been spied engaging in . . . more pleasant activities, but he still felt that her impetuous nature was potential trouble. "Humph. The reports state that there were several cases of dehydration, some minor physical injuries and one person had to be transported to the hospital for chest pains" The femme shook her head and rolled her optics at him. She sat and he stood beside her as a tense silence settled between them. "How many will try and stay?" the green mech asked a couple of minutes later.

"I don't know. Hopefully all of them will leave, but I bet a few fanatics might stay; one of those 'candlelight vigil' type things. I'm just glad Tony came up with the idea to block cell phone and satellite transmissions. That sent them packing a bit faster. For a total goober, the man is brilliant."

Ratchet shifted to face he red femme. "Anthony Melby has an astounding intellect. You should show more respect towards him; he will become a vital asset to this team."

"I do have respect for him. Believe it or not, I actually like him, _and_ he is a goober. He might be able to figure out complicated equations in his head, but his social skills are deplorable."

"So says the being who surprises Ironhide each day with a new and colorful phrase," the medic said with complete seriousness.

Velocity stood, placing her hands on her hips; she was the epitome of exaggerated indignation. "I have exceptional social graces, I just chose not to use them," she stated with a haughty voice, and resumed watching the slowly increasing activity in the valley below them. The air was crisp and smelled of winter, campfires, and near by deer, bringing back cherished memories of hunting trips. Ratchet's gentle scolding did nothing to dampen her good mood. For a few minuets, everything was right in the world and she gloried in it. "Hey, Ratch," she addressed the mech while looking over her shoulder. "I'll buy you breakfast."

_**XxxX.**_

Velocity had no choice but to sit across from the medic. He had followed her in and plopped his aft at her table. She was beginning to wonder if he was tailing her on purpose. The bitter smell of coffee and the sweet, spicy aroma of cinnamon rolls had hit her olfactory sensors from down the hall, and she sighed in wistful longing. Since the military had started increasing the number of people stationed at Autobot Underground Base Alpha, the official name of the area, her memories of foods she would never again taste had been teased and titillated regularly.

There were more and more military and civilians coming and going each day, the base becoming a bustling center of activity; some to the higher ranking people had stared residing in the little used area Optimus had designed for human habitation. With all of these mouths to feed, cooking odors were becoming a regular torture for her. Three times a day, she endured the human meal times. It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain her composure watching people enjoy the delights of eating and tasting and chewing. Now, with all of the people in here, she was going to have to wait until they left to refuel, not that it mattered to her. The pink energon might fuel her body, but it wasn't enjoyable and she still hated it. It was just harder after watching a bunch of people relish their food. Prime's standing orders were that energon couldn't be consumed around the humans; maybe if she could inhale the heady aromas of cooking while she drank the glop, it wouldn't be so bad, and if wishes were horses. Oh God, how she missed riding horses . . .

Wheeljack strolled in with his pet physicist on his shoulder. Depositing the young man on the balcony, the engineer took a seat next to his bonded. Shoulders subtly brushed together, giving away their relationship; for two mechs to be so different, they were completely devoted to each other. On nights when even her restlessness was too much for Optimus's considerable talents to overcome and she wandered the halls, she became aware of how close those two really were. She would find them together, helping each other with projects or problems. Once she stumbled across the two of them in the rec room; Ratchet was holding his mate while 'Jack relived some of the horrors he had endured on Cybertron. She didn't stay to listen, it wasn't her place, but she had a newfound respect for the CMO, even if he was a bull-headed pain in the cams.

"So why _are _you guys going to land a spaceship here?" Tony asked. He was happily perched on the upper level in the commissary, bent over so he could rest both elbows on the railing.

Wheeljack fielded the question, "One, because the Ark has sustained heavy damage and she is vulnerable to Decepticon attack. Two, because she is loaded with supplies and materials we require, and bringing her to Earth is the fastest and safest way to unload her. Three, because the Prime doesn't want anything to happen to Teletraan-1; we could very well lose the war if the 'Cons got their hands on the computer."

"So the computer has all of your secrets or something?" Tony said in a conspiratorial whisper. Velocity looked at Wheeljack expectantly; she was under the impression that Teletraan-1 was just the computer that ran the ship.

It was Ratchet that answered. "Teletraan-1 is an artificial intelligence; she is self aware, but lacks a spark to make her a living being; compare it to a human brain in a specimen receptacle, sustained by machines. She has been in service of the Primes for a long time. Her main function is to store data and assist in the day to day running of Cybertron; the nearest human comparison would be a secretary."

"Oh, like Rosey Robot!" Tony quipped obviously proud of himself.

"Rosey was a maid," Velocity corrected. She didn't see the looks she was getting from the man.

"Can I continue?" snapped the medic. "No one was sure when Optimus had her moved to a secured location, but his foresight kept her out of Decepticon hands when Iacon fell. In secret, he had her loaded onto the Ark, where she assisted us in our search for the Allspark . . . "

"If I were approaching this from a purely logical viewpoint, I probably should send the Ark and Teletraan-1 into your sun, but both have served us well, and I think they deserve a better end than that." The deep voice made everyone jump; she had felt his presence, but hadn't paid it to much attention. If Optimus was quiet and stayed out of her energy field he could sneak up on her, and he did so with startling regularity. The femme was coming to the conclusion that her mate liked to watch her jump.

Optimus claimed a seat next to her. As he sat, his knee brushed along her leg, a private signal that he acknowledged her. Mechs were almost too subtle for her taste; he was holding a newspaper between his index finger and thumb. Carefully, he laid it on the table between the four of them, and emblazoned across the top was inked 'FEMALE?'. A surprisingly good picture of Velocity was underneath, the black and white newsprint doing the vibrant color of her chassis no justice whatsoever.

"Hey, it's the New York Times, and front page. Wow, I thought only the National Enquirer ran stories on space aliens," she said with scathing cynicism. Opening the paper, she found the crossword. "Anybody got a pen?" she asked the congregation of soldiers that were listening in on the conversation. A man in fatigues came forward and handed her a Parker.

Optimus laid a hand on her arm; he almost never touched her in public. "Would you like to talk about this?" he said in a voice full of concern.

"Nope. What's a two word, eleven lettered phrase means contraband? "She didn't want to talk about it; there was nothing to talk about. Publicity was never something she wanted, but they all knew that they were under the watchfully eye of the ever vigilant media and John Q. Public. She could just imagine what was going on in cyberspace. She made a mental note to Google 'Giant Alien Robot Female Porn', just to see how twisted the populace was in the aftermath of their extradition from 'Bot Watch 2010'.

"I think we need to talk about this, before it becomes an issue."

Velocity looked at Prime, he was standing. Gesturing for her to accompany him left her with few options. Gathering up the paper and pen she followed her mate to the hall. The exclamation "Hey, that's my pen!" could be heard echoing after them.

_**XxxX. **_

"I don't like this," the towering mech finally admitted.

"Then stop reading 'Doonesbury', I gave it up years ago," the femme replied with mock seriousness from behind the newspaper.

The Times was pulled form her hand, carefully folded, and laid aside. She met her mate's optics and found no trace of humor within them; letting the bond between them open, she felt his apprehension. It wasn't like she enjoyed having her vestige splashed across the front of newspapers around the country, or the world for that matter; but the Autobots were all that people talked about these days, and she could see where people would be curious about her.

"I would have preferred that you remained in anonymity."

"Am I that ugly?" she asked trying to lighten the tension in the air. Her effort only earned her a flat stare; she almost smacked a palm against her face, exasperated. The big mech was in no mood for play. Sighing, she shifted gears and assumed a more serious demeanor. "What's up?"

"Have you wondered how all of these people knew where our base was and how to get here?"

"I assumed our old buddy ex-agent Smith divulged a few government secrets, and committed a little high treason, for the sake of saving man kind." A happy thought popped into her head "Oh, can't he be executed for that?" She couldn't help but let some malicious joy creep into her voice. Of all the people she knew, Mr. Smith was one of the few she would like to personally escort to the next life. She would even do it free of charge, it would be an honor.

"I also assumed it was Mr. Smith, but there is something not right here; the majority of the people outside received email notification telling them where our base was located. It didn't matter which organization the person belonged to, all registered members of E4H, FOC and Earth's Army had the same notice."

Velocity furrowed her facial plates into a frown. "Spam for the Autobot fanatic?" Her words came out a little more flippant than she had intended. Expecting an admonishment from Optimus, she cringed almost imperceptibly. The commander just nodded in agreement.

"Wheeljack and Bumblebee have been trying to find out where the notifications came from. They can't. Whoever generated the messages left no clue as to their identity." Prime's words were heavy with foreboding. 'Jack and 'Bee had proven they could hack into anything at anytime and leave no evidence in their wake. The engineer had even laced the firewalls to the government mainframes with some nasty surprises; all of the Cybertronians could manipulate the internet with shocking ease, but the scout and the scientist had skills that surpassed the others.

Optimus continued. "The trail goes cold very quickly, but we have evidence that it is from a third party, and Mr. Smith is not involved, as a matter of fact he has requested that E4H members not come here due to the inherent risks of being in close proximity with us."

"How very noble," the red femme spat smarmily, enunciating each syllable with careful precision.

"I thought you would feel that way." Had she not been watching, she would have missed the corner of Prime's mouth twitch.

_That was just stupid_, Velocity mused to herself. Who would want the Pros and the Antis, as she thought of them, in the same area together; especially, so close to the objects of their obsession? It was a time bomb, a chaotic nightmare. Neither side could benefit from such a situation, so a third party had to be involved, but whom? The government kept close taps on anyone listing Autobots as a tag word. Right now, there was a room full of overpaid government super-nerds scouring the internet for postings about the Cybertronians. Nobody in their right mind would even type that word. It had to be somebody who wasn't at all sympathetic to the Autobots or the humans. Velocity looked evenly at Optimus; she knew her thoughts were carved on her face, and the Autobot commander slowly nodded in agreement. "The Decepticons?" she asked in a soft whisper of disbelief.

"That was the conclusion I also came to; my only question is, why?"

_**XxxX**_

"Get out of my way you tofu farting moron," snarled Simmons as he tried to negotiate his SUV through the throng of people that were blocking the road to the base. Just his luck, the pro-visitor contingent had decided to take up squatters rights closest to the road. He really wanted to rev the ten cylinder engine, lock in the four wheel drive and mow a few of these idiots down.

Personally, he saw no use to either of the groups; they were both living with delusions of what the Autobots were really like. One side saw them as the salvation for the human race and the other's saw then as the seeds of destruction. If he'd given it much thought, he would have said he saw them as both; at least Prime seemed to be keeping a short leash on his dobermans and no one had filed complaints about being sexually assaulted by one of the twins. Thank God for small favors.

He stomped the SUV brakes as a woman nonchalantly strolled across the road in front of him. It wouldn't have mattered; he wasn't going fast enough to splat a bug. As he waited, a man leaned into the open widow on his passenger side. "Hey, this is government property," the special agent growled at the intruder.

The smelly man just smiled and held up a string of metallic beads. "Finest Cybertronian metal available. I can guarantee it." Simmons gave the techno-hippy a predatory smile and hit the up button on his window controls. The man was fast enough to avoid being squashed, but his wears weren't so lucky. The string of round beads hung half in and half out of his window. A thump echoed through the body of the truck; Simmons hoped the dip-shit had dented his vehicle. It would be fun hunting the asshole down and arresting him for damaging government property. The thought of it brightened his day as he slowly drove the rest of the way to the base.

Pulling into an empty parking place Simmons killed the engine. Reaching behind him to grab his laptop and brief case, he was distracted when the driver side door opened. Startled, the agent made a motion to grab for his weapon when a familiar laugh stayed his hand. "Damn it, Lennox, you god damned leatherneck!"

The Army Ranger gave him a grin that was both good natured and challenging at the same time. Oh, how he hated working with career military. There was just something about them that seemed a bit off balance.

"Reggie, I hope you have brought us good news, because I would hate to have to shoot the messenger right now."

Stepping out of the car, Simmons sauntered to the corner of the building. Leaning against the corrugated metal, he looked out at the crowd meandering on the other side of the chain link fence. "Actually, if the Big Guy wasn't so hot on this blackout idea and we could communicate, you would already know the good news." He turned his crocodilian grin to the Captain. "The Defense Department has purchased the old airport and the surrounding countryside from the CEO of C.E. Tech. They were willing to part with the real estate state for a very reasonable price."

Lennox recovered his surprise and started laughing. "That sneaky bastard. When did Optimus buy the airport?"

"Oh right after the government leased it from the original owners. Nobody paid any attention to the sale, because a third party was handling the rental agreement. The good news to all of this is that now that the Department of Defense controls this area and it has immediately become off limits to all civilians. By the end of the day, everyone of these smelly idiots will be gone."

A strong hand clapped him on the back, stinging and leaving dusty prints. Lennox walked away laughing. Simmons could here him calling to Epps. Shaking his head, he headed back to his vehicle; opening one of the back doors, he found the seat empty. Glancing in the front seat, and under the chairs proved to useless also; his laptop was gone. Thinking back, he clearly remembered sending Banachek an email this morning, but couldn't recall if he had put it in the truck or not. Chances were that it was still at the hotel.

_**XxxX.**_

In the dusty hills that surround the Autobot base, and well outside of the null zone that had been created, the cold electronic glow of a laptop reflected off of the dull rocks, and dormant desert plants. To prove his objective had been obtained, the mech sent one message before crushing the human device underneath a powerful, razor tipped paw.

------- Original Message -------

From : Simmons, Reginald [email ]

Sent : UNKNOWN TIMESTAMP ERROR

To : UNKNOWN RECIPIENT ERROR

Cc : UNKNOWN RECIEIENT ERROR

Subject : &*(%*&^&%$#%^^*(*^&$%#$#^t*&^&^$%(*u_)(+__)&*&%^%$

MASTER

AUTOBOTS EXPECTING ARK EARTH FALL IN SEVEN TERRAN CYCLES

ACCSSESS CODES UNABTAINABLE - SUITABLE HUMAN LOCATED FOR EXTRACTION AND DATA COLLECTION - FUNCTION, INTERFACE BETWEEN HUMAN GOVERNMENT AND AUTOBOT COMMANDER

WILL HOLD POSITION UNTIL COMMAND TO RETURN IS RECIEVED

PRESENCE OF A FEMME

ALL HAIL SOUNDWAVE

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **To **Punk Autobot **- Thank you. They have to be cute, or he wouldn't put with her. Ironhide has a big secret. To **Northwest Sage **- Thank you. I was hoping someone would like my take on the Big Bot. I have never seen him as infallible. Compassion can lead to some huge mistakes. To **Library Drone SAR **- Thanks. Here are more protesters for you. You should see the protesting that is going to happen later. **Novamyth** - The twins shall be dealt with in the only manner the twins understand. Ben handled that future scene. Shhh. Don't spoil it. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Thank you. It is hard to write something realistic. The balance is hard to achieve. It would be easier to write porn without plot. To **Ben **- Thank you. It's okay. I have my core readers and their comments help drive the story along. To **Everybody** - Thank you for hanging in with us. In about two weeks, things will start to get really interesting.


	13. Preparations

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**_**, **_the man with a million ideas, and most of them are pretty darn good. And a special thank you to **Okami-myrrhibis **who to the rescue and pointed out the flaws.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Preparations**_

_**XxxX.**_

It took longer than expected to clear all of the 'Bot watchers, as they were jokingly called, away from the base. Several of the citizens from the tent town had enough money and influence to pay for lawyers; injunctions were filed, names were dropped, the ACLU was called, and in the end not a soul remained lurking outside of the fence. Their protesting, fist shaking, idle threats and legal wrangling were for naught. When the Department of Defense secured the parcel of land from C.E. Tech, all of the 'T's were crossed and the 'I's dotted, ensuring that the contracts were legal and binding. The United States now owned this land and in her sovereignty had decided it was off limits to the public. Overnight, it had become a top-secret installation, and sanctuary for beings not of human origin. To trespass meant potential incarceration. Once again, the Autobots, along with the men and women stationed there, could enjoy the solitude of the Nevada desert.

Optimus surveyed the refuse left by the humans; a lone coyote trotted from one piece of garbage to another, scouring for anything edible. Every few seconds, the skinny canine would glance up at him nervously. The animal was in a sorry state; larges patches of dark, mottled skin were exposed through thinning hair, and bones poked out at uncomfortable angles, stretching the skin tightly over its gaunt frame. Prime allowed the scavenger to continue in his search; the beast was only fulfilling his role in the life cycle, and would soon become food for the buzzards over head. If the coyote helped remove some of the trash, and filled its starved stomach at the same time, then so much the better.

The mech cycled his vents deeply. This mess would have to be cleaned up. He made a mental note to assign it to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe; they were still paying penance and this looked like a good job for them. Tomorrow, all of them would have to start working around the clock to get the base ready for the impending arrivals. Extra supplies had been ordered and were waiting for transport. With all of the people gathered around the base, he had felt it would be prudent to store the materials in an abandoned warehouse in Tranquility. Any perception of increased activity around the base would only attract more attention and onlookers. Now they had truckload after truckload to check in and put away. Energon production had to be increased to fuel the new arrivals. Room assignments were going to be switched around. The final touches were being made to his new quarters; a four room apartment that was centered in the heart of the underground base; it would provide the security and privacy a Prime and his bondmate required. His old office and room was being restructured to suit the needs of Wheeljack and Ratchet. For the first time in over a million years, the two would share a living space. New offices and work areas were being readied for the arrivals, and Autobot Base Alpha was going to be the first true Cybertronian outpost on Earth.

The humans were working fervently as well, shipping in supplies and munitions to support their own needs. Several buildings had been resurrected. The most noticeable was the mess hall - barracks combination that had a long, human sized tunnel leading straight to the Autobot base. This allowed for easy access to both areas by the humans and a safe retreat should the Decepticons attack.

Turning to look at the base, he could see his mechs assisting the military personal as they unloaded the first of the flatbed trucks. The members of vastly different species working side by side for a common goal. Shouted orders and banter could be heard drifting along the landscape. This was how it should be; this was the dream that had come to him when he first observed the tiny species. It was going to be hard work with many obstacles to overcome, but it could be done. The vision he showed Velocity was another step closer; a vision of Cybertronian towers and grand parks sharing space with Earthly architecture, a city for both peoples to reside together. A better future.

_**XxxX. **_

Sunlight flashed along the edge of the blue black blade as it sliced through the air with a vengeful hiss. It was perfectly angled to produce maximum damage on impact. The weapon descended towards its target only to be blocked by the opponent's heavier blade. She felt the violence of metal striking metal and was painfully aware of the vibrations as her mouth plates clanked together. With a graceful turn she pivoted away from her adversary and stepped out of his attack radius. The two combatants locked their optics, trying to anticipate the other's next move.

Velocity watched the glowing blue blade that Optimus wielded; she had only seen the mech use the cleaving weapon once before. It had impressed and terrified her then, and her current opinion hadn't changed one bit. Prime's sword was a heavy and thick, designed to produce huge gaping wounds with little more than a thrust, incapacitating or outright killing his antagonists with one hit. One wrong move from either of them and it would slit her in two like an ax through butter. By comparison, her own weapon was barely longer than her arm. It was slender and felt almost weightless in her hand, perfectly designed to slip between armor plates and slice apart the vital mechanics underneath.

Twisting her wrist, the blade cut a circle in the air and whistled menacingly. It was nothing more than a showy display, an attempt to bluff her opponent into believing she possessed more skill than she actually did. They had been at this for a while; it had started out as a trial run and had quickly evolved into a lengthy sparring session. It also proved to be a much needed distraction for everyone. The entire base had been working around the clock for a solid week in anticipation of the Ark's arrival. They were all tired; the humans caught a scant four hours of sleep a day, and the Autobots even less. The only person not involved in the preparations was Mikaela, for Ratchet had decided that protecting the woman's pregnancy was more important than protecting her sense of self-worth. Velocity had thought about trying to explain to the bull-headed medic that an expecting mother is usually as capable and anyone else, especially in the early stages of the pregnancy.

Unfortunately for the young woman, Velocity didn't want to disturb the truce that she and the CMO had achieved, so Mikaela just walked around aimlessly, trying to smile while rubbing her barely perceivable abdomen.

Velocity rushed forward and dove between the Prime's legs; she used the flat of her sword to harmlessly strike his ankle. Rolling she regained her footing and ran out of the big mech's range before her could try and step on her. That particular scenario had ended the first round, and her pride had forced her to challenge her bonded to a rematch, even while his foot was securely planted on her chest. A round of applause echoed in the still desert air. Looking to where their audience sat, she bowed with an exaggerated flourish. Her rival took advantage of the situation and rushed at her in a full run. Before she had a chance to register the threat, Optimus twisted, hooked her by the waist and pinned her to his chest. The huge mech then allowed his momentum to carry both of them crashing to the ground. Disoriented from the tackle, Velocity found herself lying prone in the dusty earth, and a very smug looking Optimus straddling her chest, his knees pinning her arms. Cheers and shouts sounded around them. The humans, apparently, enjoyed the show.

"Surrender," the mech growled.

"Nope," she replied with a blasé tone. "How about a rematch?"

Optimus chuckled. "I have already beaten you five for five, perhaps you should just . . . surrender." The look held in the deep azure optics told her that had they been alone she would have no choice but to surrender herself to him body and soul. She could hear his cooling fans humming away as they tried to pull the heat away from his circuits. Her own pump was beating frantically in response to the physical exertion and to the desire he was allowing to dance along their bond. She expressed her frustration with a growly sigh.

Standing, Prime held out his hand and she took it demurely, allowing him pull her to her feet. "What the slag was that?" hollered Ironhide as he stomped towards them. "In all of my vorns, I have never seen such ineloquent sword play. By Primus, what were you attempting to do, tickle his feet?" the weapons specialist continued. The red femme looked towards her mate for some support, but the brave and noble Prime of Cybertron was already transforming to his vehicle mode. The military men and women that had used his trailer as a makeshift viewing platform were quickly climbing down, the message was clear. Back to work. That left her alone…with Ironhide; at least they got along.

"If you must know, I was attempting to hamstring him with my ineloquent swordsmanship, and I'm not sure ineloquent is a word." She knew the dark mech expected some verbal sparring from her; she had a sneaking suspicion that if she didn't mouth off at him, his day wouldn't be complete. The little session with Optimus had taught her a couple of very valuable lessons. One, she could never win against him. The reason the matches had lasted so long was because he was in a good mood and had been humoring her. Secondly, she learned that the big mechs were tall enough that it was ungainly and almost impossible for her to get close to their spark chamber. It was just an issue of size, she either had to jump onto their chest or bring them down to her level, hence the attacks she made on Optimus's feet and ankles. Had this been actual combat, she would have been stabbing her blade into the mech's lower extremities, trying to sever neural cables and fuel lines. It was a lot easier to attack the feet than jump on their chest.

Prime had not been expecting that maneuver from her, and had some difficulty protecting his feet…for a couple of rounds anyways. He quickly wised up to her tactics and modified his own, allowing him to continuously defeat her.

"How's the balance?" Ironhide asked interrupting her thoughts.

Giving the blade a couple of swings and a lunging thrust she focused on the way the weapon's weight tried to bend her wrist, or in this case, didn't. "The balance is perfect and the weight is…perfect," she said with a cheeky grin. "Gee, 'Hide. It's almost as if it was made for me." The weapons specialist gave her a decidedly annoyed look and grumbled something under his breath.

The sword _had_ been created for her; it was almost an exact reproduction of the ancient blade she carried before…before she had died. It was made out of the same dark alloy of the original; it had the same simple unadorned lines of the original, but instead of glyphs carved into it, an Autobot shield was etched on the base of the blade. It was her sword, the one she had trained with and carried for most of her life, it was an old friend she had been reunited with and didn't realize how much she had missed its company.

Velocity had been sitting with Optimus and Ratchet in the Prime's new office, where they were discussing the pro's and con's of having the media present during the landing of the Ark. Ironhide and Wheeljack joined them, carrying an object covered in thick canvas, which he'd presented it to her. The initial shock and bewilderment she had felt quickly turned to joy and excitement once she realized what she had in her hands. Wheeljack confessed that he'd kept the original weapon in his possession for a while and had been analyzing the alloy, and on several occasions she had almost caught him working on it.

This new virgin blade had the same low resonance her original blade had possessed. It reverberated age and agelessness; it was something that had been around for all of history, and would remain until the end of time. Running her fingertips down the length of the blade she could feel the vibrations of time singing to her. "My sword is in here, isn't it?" she had asked the mechs present while tapping the metal. The engineer nodded silently.

Her soul twisted around itself as gratitude washed over her. She had trouble thinking of words to express how she felt. Several times she opened her mouth to say something and only closed it again. Finally she just settled on grinning like an idiot. Glancing to her bonded she could see happiness twinkle in his optics; he was enjoying this and her responses. Warm emotions of devotion and affection wrapped themselves around their bond. So many things needed to be said and all she could come up with was, "Can I try it out?" a simple question that turned into a long, fun sparring match against her own mate, and a show for everyone else.

Since the Battle of Tranquility, Ironhide had been reiterating the fact that she needed a weapons upgrade. The two of them had spent hours trying to find armaments that she was comfortable with that wouldn't require extensive modification of her form. Heavy artillery was immediately crossed off the list, along with heavier armor and missiles. The weapons specialist didn't want to jeopardize her speed and maneuverability with firepower. He decided a handheld plasma gun was adequate for her needs; it was light weight enough she could hold it with one hand, and small enough it could be stored under the armor of her thigh. The Cybertronian pistol fired small rounds of a metal melting, superheated goo.

During Ironhide's demonstrations, he had shown her how the gel mixture would impact the target and literally burn its way through until the heat and energy was spent. It took only a few seconds for the plasma to go from lethal to harmless, but in that time it could melt its way through all but the thickest Cybertronian armor. The major drawback to the weapon was that it had a very limited number of shots before it overheated and taxed her systems, and the shots themselves only produced the tiniest holes.

Then again, a well placed tiny hole could drop an elephant to its knees.

She was never to be in the thick of battle, but in a support position, the optics and audios in the distance, relaying data to Autobots in a skirmish. She was never to be one of the warriors. That didn't surprise her. She was certain her bonded had made that decision before she had fully come online the first time. It should have angered her, but it didn't. She was aware of her vulnerabilities and didn't relish the thought of engaging enemy mechs in a fair fight. She had been able to vanquish the loner that had attacked the base because he had handicapped himself by deploying a jammer. He had been expecting to cripple potential resistance and had never considered crossing paths with someone who wouldn't be affected by the disruption field. The fact that she never really noticed the change in her own systems had Ratchet convinced there was something fundamentally wrong with her design.

Stealth and surprise were her greatest weapons; she was to move quietly in the periphery, locating unseen 'Cons, report their position, and then move on. If she was forced to defend herself then she was to retreat at the first chance. Ironhide had taught her strategies that would keep her alive and out of Decepticon crosshairs and she listened and learned like her life depended on it.

If the veteran mech gave his stamp of approval, she would go through the final stages of this upgrade. She and her new weapons had to be modified to become parts of a whole. She had never thought about it, but the Autobots' weapons were a part of them; another appendage added for the sole purpose of killing their own kind. For the most part a mech preferred to keep the armaments out of sight until needed, the exception being Ironhide, who wore his cannons like a finely tailored suit. It was as if the Autobots were trying to hold onto their peaceful past, a denial of the war that had become the focus of their lives.

_**XxxX. **_

Catherine Cutter - young, pretty, ambitious, and rumored to be the next Pulitzer recipient - was just plain exhausted. Her station manager and boss wanted to know why she hadn't been able to capture anymore footage of the alien robots. He had even alluded to the fact that one sensational story couldn't guarantee her future employment. She in turn took out her frustrations on her videographer; forcing him to help her comb through all of the footage they had shot at an airport rumored to be the aliens' base of sorts. It was a waste of effort. Like most of the reporters there, she and her team had arrived late, and the Cybertronians were nowhere to the seen; they had retreated to a large hanger and refused to come out. The only people that had captured any images of them were the fanatics that had first arrived, and they guarded their pictures and video with a jealous ferocity. And with good reason; one lucky soul had sold a photo he had taken of the 'rumored', female Autobot for ten grand. Thus the positronic paparazzi was born; people with enough time and money to sit on the outskirts of the new military installation and wait to click off a few frames of an Autobot.

Why did any of this affect her life or career? The answer was simple. She had the infamous distinction of getting caught in the middle of the intergalactic war as it consumed the small town of Tranquility, Nevada. She had been covering a campy little, feel good piece about a pet adoption drive; Jim, her cameraman, had just finished taking some footage of her holding a tabby kitten, when explosions shattered the calm of a lazy summer afternoon. What she witnessed that day changed her and her perceptions of the universe. Gargantuan machines raged against each other, and hapless men, women and children were caught in the crossfire. That day she and Jim recorded events that changed the world. That day she saw how small and frighteningly fragile life was. That day she witnessed alien beings placing themselves in harm's way to protect strangers from a species that was inferior to their own. She had seen first hand the difference between the Decepticons and Autobots, and it terrified her. All of those who called for the Autobots to leave Earth had no concept of what the human race was up against. If it wasn't for the benevolence of Optimus Prime and his allies, _Homo Sapiens_ would quickly join the dodo bird in extinction. It had become her mission to offset the negativity that the Autobots were receiving in the media, but it was difficult. The mechanoids shied away from the public eye and remained elusive.

Tossing her keys and mail on the kitchen counter, she dumped the heavy laptop case on the floor, along with her purse. Balancing on one leg, then the other, she removed her Choos with deliberate care and they joined her keys on the Formica surface. The simple black heels had cost more than a month's rent and they received the best of care. Walking through her darkened condo, she stripped her clothes off and dropped them on the floor, leaving a trail of designer apparel. When Catherine reemerged from her bedroom she was dressed in old sweats and a t-shirt bearing the insignia of her alma mater. With hedonistic indulgence she scratched where the under wires had been rubbing annoyingly all day. That was one of the glories of living alone, she could scratch wherever, whenever she wanted to.

Shuffling her way back to the kitchen, she opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of Chinese take out. Opening the white container she gave it a hesitant sniff and gagged. The stir fried rice had left the realm of edible long ago. Tossing the moldy meal in the trash she dug around the cabinets until she found some cookies. Snickerdoodles for supper.

Munching away, Catherine turned her attention to her mail. Bill. Bill. Credit card application. A flier from the community college. A white envelope with her name and address carefully printed on the front. The benign innocence of the letter had her complete attention. She had received a scattering of hate mail from the pro-human groups for her decidedly positive take on the Cybertronian presence on Earth, but all of that had been delivered to the station. Flipping the envelope over, she looked for the return address; there wasn't one.

"Crap," she said to herself. Turning on the overhead lights in the kitchen, she held the envelope up to see if there was anything in it. There didn't appear to be anything but paper. Next she pulled out a large Ziploc bag and slipped the letter in it with her small letter opener. Taking her time and using steady hands, she used the arrangement to slowly slice the envelope open and pull out the contents. She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she was certain that there wasn't anything else sealed up with the letter; no powdery residue that contained the anthrax virus or some exotic poison. It may have seemed like overkill, but one of her journalism professors had pounded it into his student's heads the need for caution. The media had a tendency to incite and infuriate people with its endless questioning, and at times those people chose to retaliate. The point was hammered home when that same professor had been severely injured when a letter bomb went off in his home. Putting on a pair of surgical gloves, she removed the letter from the plastic bag. It was on the third reading that the letters formed words that made sense to her mind.

_Dear Ms. Cutter,_

_I would like to introduce myself; my name is Optimus Prime, the Supreme Commander of the Autobot forces on Earth and on Cybertron. As you are currently informed, we have been stranded on your planet for some time now; this is a misnomer that we have permitted humanity to foster in our silence. We have an interstellar transport ship, the Ark, but she is in no condition to fly and soon will come to her final berth on Earth soil._

_I am telling you this because I believe you understand what is at stake. After witnessing your numerous televised reports supporting and expressing a genuine sympathy to my wishes of seeking harmony between our two species, I have come to the conclusion that we could form a mutually beneficial alliance. My associates and I need someone to guide us through the tumultuous obstacle course that the human news media consists of; in turn I will offer you exclusive coverage of events involving the Autobots._

_As an extension of my good will I would like to invite you to witness and record the landing of the Ark on your world, including the arrival of several allied Cybertronians. Thank you for taking time out of your undoubtedly busy schedule to consider my offer. _

_Warm regards,_

_Optimus Prime _

What followed were instructions on how to contact the alien mechanoid.

She stood barefooted in her kitchen, agog; this had to be a joke; there was no way this could be anything but a joke. Catherine reread the letter and her hands started to shake. Finally, she let out a squeal of delight and rushed to the phone, stabbing the numbers with unrestrained excitement as she dialed the number for Jim, her cameraman. It didn't matter that it was almost three in the morning, sleep could wait.

"Hemmlo?" came the groggy moans of a man.

"Jim!" she shrieked into the receiver. "You are not going to freakin' believe this."

_**XxxX.**_

Brilliant emerald colored optics flittered across the computer screen as Velocity read what had been written about her and the other mechs. She wasn't sure if she should be frightened, appalled or laugh herself silly. Web site after web site offered forums and posts theorizing about the Cybertronians and more than a couple speculated about her. After following a handful of links she learned a new term; mechophile. Reading what was posted under her picture left her wanting to take a scalding hot shower. Hitting the back button she returned to Google.

Movement caught her attention as Optimus walked into the office. He arched a brow plate in silent question. Stifling a repulsive shiver she asked her mate, "You don't use the screen name "throbbingsteelrod" do you?"

Her inquiry made both brow plates raise in a comical expression. "No," came his hesitant reply. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I found a site called intergalacticrage dot net and assumed it was a pro-human blog…"

Optimus just nodded sagely. "Go to ironsong dot com. It is devoted exclusively to me and has over eight thousand members." Prime's tone was similar to discussing what color to paint the walls, and the only choices were white and ecru. Patting her hand the Autobot continued on with his duties and left her alone to surf the net at her leisure.

Refreshing the homepage at botwatch dot com she settled in to thoroughly explore the site. After a few minutes she found herself impressed at the organization and presentation. Accessing the button marked "bios" filled her screen with thumbnails of each of them and one of Sam. Under each picture was the corresponding name, only Optimus, Ironhide and 'Bee had their names become public. Everybody else was listed as "unknown". The forums were at least interesting. The site's moderators allowed wild speculation about the various aspects of the aliens, but made it clear that anything explicit or offensive would be pulled. At least they were attempting to run an informative, quasi-serious website. She couldn't begrudge them of that.

Wandering around the pro-human sites left her feeling a bit sad and more than a little angry. The frail voice of common sense told her that she shouldn't bother wasting time learning what closed minds thought and fearful hearts felt, but she easily ignored her better judgment and pushed forward. What filled her optics were lines and lines of hate; people expressing their revulsion against the aliens and anyone that sympathized with them. More than one called for the extermination of the Cybertronians. Velocity knew she should be furious with the xenophobes; these were the same people she had feared her whole life. Men and women that would have had no problem shooting her in the head and dumping her body to rot, because she wasn't like them. She would never be like them, but now it would take more than a bullet to bring her down and hiding her remains would take a lot more than a shallow grave. She didn't feel fear or anger, she felt…pity; and it was the kind of pity one would feel towards an injured, feral animal.

As she scanned across the digital pages her optics fell upon an entry that took her pity and molded it into sadness. "The End Times are upon us. Fallen angels walk among men and attempt to sway us with their lies, and with them they have brought the Harlot, the Beast's Concubine. Mark my words, the Star Wormwood will fall from the Heavens and they will devour us like locusts devour the grain."

She was finished. Powering down Prime's computer she stood and stretched. She felt pity towards those too ignorant or scared to open their eyes and see. She felt disgust toward those that propagated the prejudice. A soft caress rushed along her bond with Optimus and she realized he was sensing her emotions and felt the exact same way. Leaving the office, the femme sought out her mate, wanting his guidance.

_**XxxX **_

**A/N**: To **Ben** - Of courses I left it in. You came up with it and wrote it. On top of that I think it was fragging brilliant. To **Novamyth **- I think being denied food is Velocity's personal hell. Nope, no Perceptor, Ben killed him. To **Tiamat1972** - Thanks for reviewing when you can. Glad you like the quirks, there are so many more in the future. Something about the Autobots has never said happy ending to me. To **Ladfofthebookworms **- Simmons is going to be _very_ unhappy in the near future. To **Punk Autobot **- The poop will fly in so many directions it will be amazing


	14. The Ark

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co Authored with **Benjamin Bradt**. Ben, thanks for helping me bring this to life and for being the best friend a girl could have. Thanks for just listening to my gripes and then making me laugh.

_**XxxX**_

_**The Ark**_

_**XxxX.**_

"Do you realize what a shit storm this has caused?" Keller asked, his voice tight with exasperation. It had been forty-eight hours since the announcement that the Autobots were going to land their spaceship on Earth, and already his administration was trying not to crumble from the weight of the public outcry it was receiving; everyone from rich oil refining magnates in the US to poor farmers in Nairobi had an opinion regarding the plan, and damn if they weren't going to make him cognoscente to every one of them.

"I was unaware that bringing the Ark would produce a tempest of excrement." Keller snapped his eyes towards the red and blue flame covered mech that made the comment; if the words had not been spoken with such solemn dignity, the Secretary of Defense would have accused the Autobot commander of making light out of a serious situation.

"Optimus, the international community is up in arms over this! The United States has been formally accused of allowing an alien invasion, and our enemies are claiming that we're going to use your technology to subjugate the entire planet. Right now, demonstrators are converging on the capital to protest anymore Cybertronians receiving refuge on Earth." The elder statesman ran both hands through his sagely white hair. He was too damn old for this. It was still a closely guarded secret that most of what people considered modern technology had been harvested from the Decepticon leader that Sector 7 had keep frozen; he wondered how all of the self righteous, xenophobic pro-humans would feel if they knew that their cell phones, laptops, and cappuccino makers came directly from a Cybertronian. Even among those that knew the truth, it was a rarely discussed topic. Prime had not shown any interest in addressing the subject, and few wanted him to once it was discovered that he had been Megatron's brother. The old adage of letting a sleeping lion lie was very applicable to this particular issue.

The Secretary of Defense looked Optimus Prime in the optic, the radiant blue glow held a soulful knowledge that spanned the ages, infinite wisdom that had been gathered over thousands of human life times; Keller had absolutely no doubt that his country had done the right thing by allowing the mechanoid to remain, and to remain free and unfettered. He also doubted there was any way to hold them had they tried to force the mechs into containment. Making the rest of the free world share that vision was proving…difficult. As they spoke, countries were drawing up embargos against the United States; it was a situation that was growing more perilous every day. But it wasn't Prime's responsibility to ease international tensions. Keller had suspicions that the leader had problems of his own to contend with.

"Have you heard from your Second in Command yet?" the man asked the mech. The great head nodded in affirmation. "Yes. There is some concern about the reliability of the forward thrusters and altitude stabilizers. Prowl has assured me that they have done all they can do to deal with that challenge. On our end, we have initiated every safety measure we can think of. The base has been cleared of all military vehicles and equipment and at the time of the landing every being, human and mechanoid, will be in prearranged safety zones. It will leave our home vulnerable, but I would rather risk an intrusion than have someone below ground if the Ark actually crashes. The USGS has expressed concern over a seismic event occurring, should an object the size of the Ark impacts the Earth in this area. I can give you my word that insuring welfare of every life present is my greatest priority." Keller accepted the alien's words at face value; he had enough dealings with the Prime to know that the robot would probably sacrifice himself to help a kitten out of a tree. The safety of men and women stationed with the Autobots was in very capable hands.

"Optimus, is this absolutely the best course of action? I know you have reiterated time and time again about the necessity of the equipment and supplies the ship holds, but…can I be frank? I get the impression you are not telling me the entire truth of this situation." He knew he was taking a gamble by verbally cornering the Cybertronian leader; he liked Optimus, he trusted Optimus, but he was very aware that the mech kept his cards well hidden until he played them. The Autobot commander was as cautious as they came, but he had also been gracious with the exchange of information and technology; albeit not the technology the defense department was hoping for, but useful, life saving technology none the less. Demanding for further disclosure, even subtly, might cause the alien to distance himself.

For an entire minute the air between them stalled in a pregnant silence; Keller couldn't even hear the soft whirs and clicks that accompanied these living machines. He waited. The mech was just staring thoughtfully at him; it was a disconcerting feeling, being soul-searched by luminescent eyes older than his entire species. Finally, Optimus sighed, the sound carried the burden of a being weighed down by grief and worry since before time immemorial.

"I have not divulged all of the reasons I would like to have the Ark safely on the Earth. For that I apologize, but I have had my reasons." The alien approximated a sigh and slowly continued, "Not all of the passengers could survive planet fall without the protection the ship offers. A few of the mechs have sustained serious damage and will perish if they do not receive Ratchet's skills. One of them may be too far gone as it is. It is very possible that Earth will be the last sight he ever experiences. I realize it seems wasteful and illogical to go through such effort for two of my people, but I fear our numbers have dwindled dangerously low, and every spark is precious." The words were thick with regret and sorrow, and Keller felt guilty for ever questioning Optimus' motivations; the mech was concerned for his people, and wanted the last thing they saw to be a promise of a better tomorrow. Being a man who had time and again stared the ravages of disease and mortality in the face on countless excursions with the President, wanting to make someone's last moments peaceful and serene was something he understood far too well.

The great 'Bot leaned in closer, his face held an expression of determination. "Also there is concern that the Decepticons could find a way past the Ark's defenses and board her. If this happened, there is a very real possibility that they could turn her formidable armaments against the planet. As it is, she is the only Autobot vessel left in your solar system; all the smaller shuttles the others used have been sent into your sun. Stranding my people on your planet was a heavy gambit, but I have faith that men such as yourselves will reward our high hopes with good will."

Keller's mind was working at a furious rate trying to process and analyze all of the variables and strategic options available to them; he quickly came to the conclusion that he was still too damn old for this and that he should have spent more time watching Battlestar Galactica with his grandson. Maybe he should call the sci-fi obsessed thirteen year old and ask for his opinion. Then a coherent thought dragged itself out of the myriad of mental images collaged together from comic books he read as a youth. "Don't the Decepticons also have a ship?"

Optimus graced him with a ghostly smile. "Yes, but the Nemesis is not equipped with near the firepower that our vessel is. The Nemesis is a Star Cruiser, designed to defend itself against small to mid-sized craft and to discourage threats. Star cruisers operate in groups, compensating for their sparse arms with numbers. The Ark is the Autobot Flagship, a massive Vanguard Class Starship designed to assuage combat with the appearance and force. The Decepticons needed three contingents of Star Cruisers before they felt ready to tackle the Ark, and even then their efforts were futile." The leader straightened his posture, looking out across the arid terrain with a vacant expression. "Our intention is to convert her weapons array into an earthbound defensive targeting system. If the Decepticons were foolish enough to try and attack the planet with one of their ships, then they would leave us no choice, but to neutralize it. Wheeljack assures me, that once the modifications are made, it would take no more than a few shots to permanently cripple any threat outside of the atmosphere."

Keller rubbed his hand over his mouth, the implications were astounding; this alone would tip the balance of world power decidedly back towards the United States, but it could also allow the Cybertronians more leverage. Even thought he doubted Optimus would ever use such a tactic to gain personal power, the rest of the planet didn't believe the Autobots were as benevolent as they appeared. "How do you intend to create such a device without the enemy noticing?"

The Autobot cocked his head to the side and a sly light flickered in his optics. "I have no intentions of hiding my plans." Keller about choked on the bottled water he was sipping. The cheeky glow died and nothing but grave seriousness lingered in the mech's orbs "If the Decepticons unleash the Nemesis against the planet, millions will die. We are quite fond of Earth and its many wondrous sights, but the Decepticons do not share our outlook; if they know such an action would destroy their only way back to Cybertron then, hopefully, they would be less likely to use that option. This weapon is a deterrent, and if I have to use it against the Decepticons, then considerate it a final attempt to save your world. To use a human turn of phrase, I am drawing a line in the sand, and I doubt they would want to cross it. My council has also discussed the possibility of taking the offensive and destroying the Nemesis before she can attack, but that is almost impossible since she is well hidden behind one of the other planets in your star system."

The Secretary of Defense knew that war was brutal and ugly; he knew that people and countries, and now the world, had the right to protect themselves against violent aggressors. He also knew that it was better to seek a peaceful solution and to only pick up arms when all other options were exhausted. He wondered how many options the human race actually had against the hostilities of a superior race like the Decepticons.

_**XxxX.**_

Optimus looked at his team as they stood in a semi-circle around him. In less than twenty-four hours the Ark would penetrate the Earth's atmosphere and, if all went well, it would be a perfect landing. He was confident each would carry out their assigned tasks with determination and diligence. There were so many things that could go wrong, but he felt secure in the knowledge that no matter what the outcome, this small group before him would remain unfaltering and devoted. His spark swelled with pride and gratitude; mild curiosity tickled across the bond he and the femme shared. Catching her optics with his, he gave her a private smile, and then dismissed the team.

Before they could walk out of the conference room, he sent out two private communications: one to Ratchet and Wheeljack, requesting them to stay, the other to the twins, asking them to wait outside of his office for a moment. Both issues were important to him, and he had to make sure that all possibilities were addressed and dealt with in the most reasonable manner available. He regretted having to burden the CMO and his bonded with such a responsibility, but they were his best choice. A stable pair, and each mech, in his own way, had a caring and compassionate spark. Had this infernal war never started, he wouldn't be here, thinking of begging his long time friend, and his mate, for such a favor.

As the door closed and the three were left in secluded private, the Prime thought about the best way to broach the subject at hand. He couldn't think of any stirring orations to inspire them to rally behind his cause, so he fell back onto a direct approach, cutting straight to the point. "I have a favor to ask the two of you. This is not a favor to the Prime, but to me personally." Optimus could see that already Ratchet was narrowing his optics in suspicion. _Good_, thought Prime, _he won't be jumping to any rash decisions_. He continued, "I am concerned that it will take Velocity vorns to adjust to our society, if she is able to at all." He heard the medic make a snorting sound, and ignored it. "She is going to need someone to care for her in the event I am unable to." It took less than a nanosecond for both the mechs to start disputing his statement.

"What the frag are you talking about!" snarled Ratchet. "As long as I'm around you _will _be able to take care of that intensely annoying thing you have bonded yourself to."

"Sir, that is preposterous, you are a relatively young mech. The two of you should have many many millennia together," Wheeljack stated. Optimus let them argue for a couple of minutes longer. He was aware of the sensitivity that discussing his own death brought about in his mechs. His mortality was a taboo subject to them.

Holding his hand up, he hushed the commentary. "You both know there is a chance I could walk out on a battlefield and not return. Megatron successfully assassinated my predecessor, and there is always a chance one of his followers could succeed in doing the same to me. If this ever occurs, I need to make sure that Velocity will have someone there for her; someone I can trust not to take advantage of her vulnerabilities and protect her from those that would, as well as serve the counterbalance necessary to help her learn to temper her…vivacious nature with patient wisdom. I have little doubt that, in my absence, numerous mechs would make attempts for her companionship and…. I don't want to burden either of you with this, but Wheeljack, you are her closest friend and someone she is comfortable with, therefore you are my first choice. I am thinking of trying to find a Keeper for her among the new Autobots, but I know the chance of that occurring is slim."

"Optimus, her keeper should be a femme. Our traditions cannot be ignored…"

"Ratchet, I am aware of this," the Prime's voice didn't hold a trace of ire, but intense weariness. "Where am I to find a femme? My best hope is that one of the mechs will be willing to break with our traditions and serve her in this regard."

"I would be more than willing to serve as her keeper," stated Wheeljack. Optimus allowed himself a small smile, Wheeljack was never concerned with mores or convention.

"No, I need you as my Science Officer. I am asking you two this favor, only as a final desperate measure. Please, take time to think this over and if you feel this is too great of a chore, then I will ask someone else." He watched as the pair looked at each other, their faces serious as they sent private communiqués to one another. Optimus didn't feel slighted having an unheard conversation going on right in front of him; this was not considered rude as it was with humans.

Within minutes the engineer and CMO were looking at him. It was Wheeljack that spoke for the pair. "Velocity will always have a place with us. We have agreed to help guide her, regardless of whether or not, the worst case scenario comes to fruition."

Optimus felt relief wash over his spark; not only had they agreed to take her in, they decided that they would teach her. He doubted he would make it out of this war alive, and knowing she had a safe place to go to alleviated many of his worries.

Ratchet shoved an intimidating finger in his face. "I want you to realize that if I have to spend the rest of my days catering to that…that femme, I will hold you personally responsible." Optimus just nodded gravely, he could accept those terms.

"Thank you very much for agreeing to this." Prime sighed in relief as he laid a hand on each of their shoulders, "I realize that I have asked of you both a very serious undertaking, and it fills me with intense joy to know that, should the unthinkable happen, she will be in the best of companionship." The two nodded silently, excusing themselves shortly thereafter. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, please come in."

The twins entered quietly, their faces heavy with seriousness in an attempt to cover something mischievous, making them appear completely guilty. The pair practically hummed with excitement, and Prime knew that they had been eavesdropping, straining their audio receptors to garner some juicy bits of gossip. What they had heard was something they both realized was not meant for them, and could be valuable information, or used for boastful intimidation. "What's up, big 'Bot?" Sideswipe piped in, trying to appear nonchalant.

"I know that you two were listening in on the conversation that just transpired between Ratchet, Wheeljack, and myself." The emotionless accusation evoked an immediate look of shock from them both. "I trust I can rely on you both to not go about…sharing the details of that conversation?"

"Of course, sir." Sunstreaker answered him, the normally aggressive 'Bot seemed suddenly subdued. "Conversations concerning your mortality, and the good care of your bonded, are not our business and I apologize for overhearing any of it."

"I am glad you feel that way." Prime approached them both, his hands clasped behind his back. "Because Velocity has expressed concerns regarding the new arrivals, and I have my own concerns also. She would prefer that the others get to know her as Velocity, not as the Prime's mate, and I would have her wishes fulfilled. Also…"

"Don't tell me she wants the freedom to play the field?" The yellow-hued twin grinned darkly, "Not an out-of-character impulse. It's only natural for her to want a chance to interview every potential mate; she is a femme after all, and one who comes from a fairly promiscuous society."

"No kidding." The red-hued twin snickered, "I just wish she'd said something to us instead of going through you. I'm sure we could have worked out an arrangement."

Growling furiously, Prime grabbed both twins by their necks and easily lifted them into the air, pinning them both against the wall. Narrowing his optic shutters to dangerous slits he leaned forward; letting his battle mask locked into place. "Ever since landing on this world, you two have consistently pushed the boundaries of my patience by skirting the rules and seeing how much you could get away with! This is one time you will act like Autobots and do…as…I…say. Velocity is my mate and our enemies could use her to get to me. The only way the Decepticons could find out about our bonding is if one of my mechs tells them. I will hold the both of you responsible if this occurs."

"We're sorry, we're sorry!" Sideswipe's voice was unusually tight as Prime constricted their throats, "It was just a joke Optimus! I swear!"

"Well this is not a joking matter!" Prime slammed them into the wall again, the room echoing with the ring of an impact so forceful that it made their processors stall for a few seconds. He brought them close enough that the intensity of his blue optics was reflected in their face plates; both of them wore expressions of paralyzing fright, and their commander did not doubt that if they had the capacity, they would have leaked coolant in primal response to the fear. "I will give you one warning; no matter who presses you for information, no matter how hard or with what offer of compensation, you will profess to know nothing. If I find out that either one of you has so much as breathe a hint of her past, there will be no escape for you. There will be nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide. I don't even have to be the one to get you, should the truth come out. I am the Supreme Commander; I see and hear everything that happens in our midst, and we all know how vulnerable a 'Bot can be, what with our requirements to wash out the terrestrial debris we accumulate in our systems, the potential for accidents during live training exercises, and the regular recharge times and tune-ups we must submit ourselves to. If you catch my meaning…"

The twins nodded their heads furiously, and the moment Prime released them they sprinted out of the office, running for the elevator as if Unicron were on their heels. After they had gone he reopened the connection between himself and Velocity, reassuringly stroking her aura with his own. She didn't need to know about the tactics he'd chosen to use against the twins, not that he thought she'd have minded; slag, she'd have probably been proud of him. Regardless of how necessary his actions were, it would bother him that he had to…lower himself to such a level. Unfortunately, it took the harshest of threats to make an impression on the twins, and then actually have that impression make it past their extraordinarily thick cranial plates and into their memory banks.

_**XxxX. **_

Catherine felt as if she had been walking through a dream for the last day and a half. This sort of stuff never happens to anyone…but here she was.

It had all started when she had contacted the number at the bottom of the invitation that 'Optimus Prime' had supposedly sent her. The voice on the other end of the line sounded decidedly human, complete with awkward pauses and a couple of 'umms'. Once the voice had introduced himself as Sam Witwicky, she had to curb her reporter's instincts and not ask the man a hundred questions. Things took on a surreal feeling when the infamous Witwicky asked if she could hold on; he had to find Optimus. What followed was fifteen minutes of strained silence, occasionally broken with even more strained conversation; it became very apparent that the young man was lacking in gift of gab, and if his winded voice gave any clue, he was covering a lot of ground.

At one point she heard him talking to someone named Ratchet in an attempt to locate the alien leader, and during their banter, Catherine had been absently trying to figure out how a thirty-something foot tall being covered in red and blue flames could go missing. Finally, a smooth soothing "Hello, Ms. Cutter," slid over the connection and made her scalp tingle, there was no mistaking that voice.

"Hello, Mr. Prime." she responded in kind, involuntarily dropping the tone of her voice to a sultry purr. She gave herself a mental kick in the ass, and reminded herself that this was a giant alien robot, and potentially lascivious dialogue was bound to be lost on him…probably. The conversation that followed left her mind in a whirl, and the rest of her in a giddy excited mess; she and her cameraman had been invited to stay at the Autobot base and…and…she could barely control herself throughout the rest of the phone call. She could already see them, engraving her name on a Pulitzer.

She had been informed that a car would pick both her and her cameraman up the following afternoon; what arrived was not what she had been expecting. The yellow '09 Camaro with black racing stripes had been a little…out of the ordinary. Sam Witwicky got out and helped her carry her luggage to the bed of the enormous black truck that had pulled up behind his sports car. Sam then introduced her and Jim to the other man present, one Captain William Lennox. Strangely, Captain Lennox wouldn't allow anyone to help him load the cases containing Jim's camera equipment, their luggage, or her laptop bag. Parting with the portable computer had been a trial, somewhat like allowing someone to separate her hand, but she reluctantly agreed. Maybe it was his military training, or maybe it was his upbringing, but she found it both insulting and chivalrous that she wasn't allowed to help. As she watched the captain load his truck, she couldn't help but admire the way his thighs filled out the worn jeans he was wearing, or the way his shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders as he lifted the heavier bags and gently laid them in the bed. Stealing a quick glance she noticed the gold ban on his left hand and sighed inwardly_. Dating, epic fail._

She chose to ride with Witwicky; a chance to informally interview the young man, alone, was not something she was going to pass up. She asked him about growing up in Tranquility, about what food he liked, where he and his buddies liked to hang out, how he meet the Autobots. That question caused the younger man to fidget in his seat, and when the lyrics from Don Henley's "Dirty Laundry" started blaring from the car's speakers, the awkwardness seemed to intensify. Witwicky apologized profusely for nothing in particular, but the ride from there on out was uncomfortably quiet. She doubted Jim would be able to get any information out of the Army Captain. Her trusted camera man had served in the first Gulf War and would be too busy talking shop to remember to try and gather any insider info.

The base looked strangely deserted when they arrived. The assortment of military vehicles and their accoutrements had vanished, and very few people could bee seen. A couple of jackrabbits hopped about as if they owned the place. As they neared, the door to a massive hanger slowly ground open, and Witwicky steered the Camaro towards the waiting entryway. Catherine could barely contain her excitement; she was going to be one of the few people to see the inside of the Autobot's headquarters, and…it was….much emptier than she'd expected; no massive aliens wondering about, no strange extraterrestrial equipment to study Earth and whatever, nothing; just a white semi trailer and a strange disk sunk a foot into the floor of the building. As she stepped out of the car, she felt like she was the center of the world's biggest joke, and that raised her hackles. Everyone had speculated what was inside the building the Cybertronians had been seen going in and out of. The handful that knew had been sworn to secrecy. During the scientific conference, the media had been held at arms length and not allowed to see inside the building. All of this security for a fucking trailer?

Disgusted and miffed, she helped Jim and sexy Captain Lennox remove the equipment from the back of the truck. Once the last of their luggage was unloaded, the truck rolled forward several feet and stood up. Not just stood up, but transformed. It turned itself inside out, shifted and reconfigured into the less than friendly, formidable vestige of Ironhide, the weapons specialist. As soon as the change was complete the mechanoid nudged the sun yellow Camaro with his foot. "Come on, we have work to do." The yellow muscle car also stood up and gave them a friendly wave as he trotted after the larger robot.

She didn't have to look at Jim to know they shared the same stupefied, wide eyed expression; they turned into cars! The aliens could hide in plain sight because they transformed into cars! Quickly, she dug into her purse for the journal and pen she always kept handy, and hastily wrote one word: "Transformers". Not only did she have the exclusive of a lifetime, she had a buzz word to label it with.

"Dear Merciful Mother of God, we were sitting in them," her cameraman whispered with awe. Turning to look at the older man, Catherine noticed his skin had taken on a ghastly pale green hue, making the gin blossom freckles that speckled his cheeks and nose stand out in sharp relief.

"Yeah, you'll get used to it," chuckled Witwicky. "But don't expect all of the 'Bots here to be willing to play taxi. One of them in particular feels it is beneath him and disgusting to have a human passenger."

"And if you're smart, you'll do like I do and provide your own transportation." An unknown voice echoed hollowly in the hanger. Catherine turned to evaluate the speaker as he swaggered towards them. Within half a second she decided she didn't like him; something about the beaky face and the predatory eyes made her wonder why he didn't ooze slime. "Special Agent Simmons," he said as way of introduction. After she shook his hand, she had to resist the urge to wipe her palm on her pant's leg.

"What is all of this?" Simmons asked, pointing to the numerous cases and bags.

Lennox started rattling off the contents of their luggage and occasionally would pause and chuckle to himself. There was no way the man could know what their bags contained unless he had searched them himself and then she noticed it, a small silver device discreetly tucked in the Capitan's ear. Finally, Simmons held his hand up to stop the man's extensive list. "Has all of this been cleared?"

There was a pregnant silence and Lennox visible winced, and pressed a hand against his ear. With a smug expression he addressed the agent. "Ironhide says, and I quote, 'I've been doing my job before your species slithered out of the ocean and climbed into the trees; do you think I would leave the area if anything questionable had come up when I scanned their possessions? If so, then'…no, I'm not going to say that. Why?! It will just piss him off more, that's why…" Catherine watched as the captain excused himself to have a conversation with the air.

Taking their cue from Witwicky and the Simmons man, she and Jim moved their 'possessions' to the center of the painted floor. The four of them stood in the center of a big bull's eye, looking at each other; it was more awkward than being stuck in the elevator with strangers. A vibration rattled her bones and the jolt of massive locks disengaging beneath her feet, she had the distinct impression that she was kneeling at the entrance of a rabbit hole. A feminine squeal, not unlike the one she'd stifled, erupted from her cameraman's lips as the floor descended, plunging them into darkness. It seemed her Lewis Carroll reference was not as far off as she'd imagined.

The elevator came to a shuddering stop as another man in military fatigues pushed a trolley towards them. "You have a ways to walk and those bags look pretty heavy," he said as way of explanation. Thanking the young, fresh faced recruit, she helped load the bags onto the trolley. Staring at the endless hallways radiating off of the central elevator, she wondered exactly how big the base was. It looked like it could easily stretch for miles.

"All right new people listen up, there are rules to be followed and these rules can save your life," started the Simmons man in a voice that sounded like the oft repeated bored instructions that were heard just before amusement park rides started. Sam and Lennox chose at this exact moment to excuse themselves, leaving her and Jim with the special agent. "First, neither of you are to go off snooping alone; I know this goes against everything reporters are suppose to do, but if either of you are found without an escort, I will have you removed from the base and the Big Bot won't be able to stop me. Second, not all parts of the base are accessible to humans. Please turn your attention to the color code legend posted behind you; green means it is safe for humans, yellow, check with a mech, me or military personnel before entry and red, no organic life forms, what so ever, are allowed. For some asinine reason the Autobots wanted to color the signs blue, white and mauve…seriously, what the hell…" Catherine wondered if the last comment was meant to be taken as a joke, and gave the man a wane smile.

"How many areas are off limits to people and why?" she couldn't stop her reporters instincts from taking over.

The cocky agent looked at her like she was a boil on his butt. "There are three; the energon production and storage area, Wheeljack's workshop, and the Cybertronian weapons storage."

"What is energon and is it harmful to people?"

"Energon is their fuel source and no one is sure if it is harmful or not, would you like to volunteer to be the guinea pig?" The dark look in the man's eyes stopped that line of questioning. Over the years, she had been threatened, assaulted, cussed at, and her car vandalized, but never had she seen such a cold efficient stare. This Simmons man would do whatever it took…period. She smiled sweetly and changed the subject.

"When do I get to meet the Autobots?"

"This isn't a guided tour and you don't. They are preparing for the landing and don't want to be bothered. I am going to show you to your rooms to drop this load of crap off and then I'll take you to the commissary for dinner and the final assignments."

As the baleful man lead them through one identical corridor after another, she couldn't help but notice the collections scribbles on the walls; English, Spanish and something that looked like Korean, pointed the way to various points in the base. At one juncture, high up on the white wall was a set of sharp glyphs with an arrow and a smiley face. She and Jim exchanged shrugs and continued on their way.

_**XxxX. **_

The blue-black horizon was starting to fade into the soft pastels of morning. This wasn't really her favorite time of the day, but it didn't matter. Since the transformation from blood and flesh to metal and circuitry she found that she wasn't as susceptible to the rhythm and pulse of the planet. She could still feel the change in tempo from day to night, summer to winter, but it just didn't affect her in the same way. Once the rising of the sun meant that her day was almost over and she would need to rest; her nocturnal disposition dictating that she should seek sleep during the fiery orb's zenith in the sky. Now that it didn't matter. The only demands her living metal flesh had were to maintain sufficient fuel, and to recharge long enough that everyday wear and tear was given time to heal.

Standing on the hill top in the cold desert morning, Velocity thought that it was impossible to miss the electrical change of excitement in the air. Looking over at her partner for the day, she could see Bumblebee shifting from one foot to the other in nervous anticipation. The humans standing around were also little balls of palpable eagerness as they checked and rechecked their equipment, their watches, themselves…. Optimus had arranged for a news crew to be on hand to film the landing of the Ark; it was part of his attempt to coddle and cajole the media, hoping they could help sway the opinions of the average human, and luckily for her, she was assigned to help 'Bee watch over the civilians present. With a long suffering sigh, she let her optics drop to the assembled group. Catherine Cutter, news hound, survivor of the destruction of Tranquility, purveyor of designer fashions, was standing uncomfortably in her seven hundred dollar shoes. _You should have brought sensible foot wear, _the femme thought to herself. Near her was John…James…no, Jim; Jim the cameraman. He seemed a little more down to Earth with his jeans and flannel, but then again, he didn't have to look good for TV. Simmons and Sam were chatting away like old friends that really hated each other, and Mikaela was huddled near 'Bee to try and absorb some of the mech's radiant heat. Tony Melby was wide-eyed and jittery as he pestered a group of government officials. There were scientists stationed around the valley with expensive equipment to read and measure gods-knows-what, but they were not her concern.

Glancing to the valley below, the other Autobots were spread around, checking and rechecking the high-powered lights that were to act as secondary beacons for Prowl to use to guide the ship. The base could be seen in the distance; it was completely deserted and most of the equipment removed and stored elsewhere. Most of the personnel were with the equipment. Safety first.

As the sky grew lighter, clouds began forming, obscuring the atmosphere with their hazy feathers. These weren't the high wispy clouds of the upper atmosphere; no, these were growing into the heavier, low clouds that cloaked the sky during winter; pressing down on the denizens of Earth in dismal grays.

"What the fuck?" snapped Catherine. Velocity knew that a cold front was creeping in, and within an hour the sky would be a solid blanket. She watched as the reporter stomped over to Bumblebee and knocked on his foot; for someone who had only been briefly introduced to the Autobots, she had assumed she could take many liberties with them. The scout squatted down to be eyelevel with the woman. "Hey, how are we suppose to cover this is we can't see crap? Didn't you check the weather forecast before planning this?"

'Bee just smiled his odd smile, and addressed the lady with candor. "The weather is of little concern, as long as there isn't any electrical disturbance in the area. The clouds do not inhibit our sensors like they do yours, and the Prime would like to have the Ark on the ground and secured by nightfall." Velocity just shrugged when the woman's attention turned to her. "What he said," she quipped.

Personally, she couldn't wait until this was over. Catherine Cutter had been hounding her with questions: "Are you really a female? How does your kind reproduce? What is your home world like? How long do the Cybertronians intend to stay on Earth?" On and on the questions went until she finally couldn't stand it any longer. "Ms. Cutter, I have been assigned as your guardian. All that means is that I have to keep you from harm; that does not mean that I have to give an interview. If you would like an interview, ask Optimus, but it is not my place to divulge information". The cruel chuckles that came from Simmons made her cringe. "I forgot to warn you," the special agent told the reporter. "Velocity is a bit bitchy." Velocity couldn't help herself; she made a pinching motion with her index finger and thumb while staring down the man. He just laughed at her and dared her to 'bring it on'. She didn't know what the journalist thought about Human-Cybertronian relations, but she was quickly indoctrinated to the various insults the two species could throw at each other.

As the morning wore on the sky became completely obscured by clouds and the temperature dropped at least ten degrees; had they been in a more northerly climate, Velocity would have bet on snow. Then she felt it; it traveled through her systems, unheard and unseen, but she knew it was there. It was a calling, a pull, a siren's song, something was nearing and she could feel it. Looking at 'Bee she saw his head snap up, his complete attention on the nebulous heavens above. Glancing below, she could see all of the others doing the same. The humans took their cues from the mechs and also gazed upwards.

The sound of violins echoed from 'Bees speakers. Recognizing the tune, Velocity looked at the scout. "No," she whispered hoping the humans wouldn't be able to hear her, the yellow mech only nodded his head in a sagely, cock-sure manner. The orchestra bled into synthesizers and a modern beat. The red femme covered her face with her hand and the news camera spun to capture the Autobot-turned-iPod for all of posterity. "Far. We've been traveling far. Without a home, but not without a star. Free. Only want to be free. We huddle close, hang onto a dream…" Neil Diamond sang for everyone within ear shot. As the crooner continued on, Bumblebee pointed up, and in mere seconds every Autobot had tuned their keen optics toward what the scout was indicating; a small pinprick of light was cutting through the opaque mist. The beam widened and intensified at a steady rate. The beacon was joined by another, and at a considerable distance from the first. The femme had to turn her head to look from on to the other. With in second, dozens of lights pierced to clouds and seemed to fill the sky. What had started out as a barely noticeable vibration was increasing in volume to a deafening roar. Velocity suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable standing on the hilltop. The sky above them was darkening and the grey clouds turned to almost black as whatever traveling through them was blotting out the sun. Without realizing it, she dropped to all fours in a defensive crouch. The humans were also starting to stoop a little, trying to make themselves appear smaller, an instinctive reaction. All knew that a great bird of prey was overhead; an avian hunter that had flown between the stars was coming to nest on Earth.

The first of the landing gear sliced through the nebulous vapors, followed by the underbelly of the beast. The heavens swirled and parted, thin wraithlike tendrils of mist seemed to cling to the lines and angles of the Ark as it slowly pushed against the Earth's gravity, trying to slip harmlessly to the ground. The ship covered most of the sky above them. It seemed capable of touching all horizon lines, and crushing the very planet beneath it. As more and more of the spacecraft came into view, it became evident what a beautiful ship it once was; the lines spoke of strength and sophistication, a creation of science and art; something that was truly and exquisitely alien.

Velocity watched as the craft slowly descended, the numerous beams of light shinning onto the ground below, cutting the landscape into patches of gloomy shadows and harsh brilliance. The lights flickered once…twice…on the third time they did not come back on. Looking to 'Bee for guidance she had barely enough time to see him spin and emit a shrill whistle to the valley below. Almost instantly, another warning echoed his call. As those standing on the safety of the hilltop watched, the mechs under the great ship transformed into their alternate modes and sped along the desert floor, kicking up great cascading sprays of dust behind them as they attempted to move out from beneath the Ark. At the same time, a keening moan resonated from above, the anguished cries of a dying giant. The sound traveled through the femmes sensors, leaving her shivering. The shriek of metal upon metal could be heard as the colossal ship listed sideways, remaining suspended for a few seconds before it started its plummet to Earth. "'Bee?" she asked in a panicky voice. The scout literally scooped up as many humans as he could in his arms and curled protectively around them. Not asking, and not needing to ask the crimson femme followed his lead and unceremoniously shielded the rest with her body. They didn't have long to wait. In less than a minute the planet itself seemed to explode around them as the Ark slammed into the ground. What followed was the deafening roar of a small hillside evaporating and the crumpling screech of hundreds of tons of metal. A choking dust cloud traveled out in all directions, along with the shockwave that knocked anyone standing off their feet. The Earth shook as seismic tremors, fueled by the impact, coursed through the crust. Dirt, rocks and boulders rained down in all directions, bouncing off of the mech's armor with painful clanks and dings. As soon as it happened, it was over, leaving in its wake a sepulchral silence.

Velocity's sensors easily picked up the panicky heartbeats of the humans huddled under her; she could hear the blood surge through their veins as it carried massive amounts of oxygen to their muscles and organs. The deep inhalations turned to choking coughs as the breathed in the dust that hung in the air.

::Is it over?:: she asked over the general communications frequency.

::I believe so.:: responded her mate.

Carefully uncurling herself from around the humans she quickly looked to the valley below. Through the heavy haze of dust, she could make out the Ark, wedged into the ground at a perilous angle. Not far away from the fallen ship she could just make out Optimus and others walking towards the earthbound vessel. She realized the other mechs had barely enough time to get clear of the craft before it crashed. Checking on the humans in her care, she could see that they were just as shell shocked as she was. Every one of them appeared pale and disoriented, and she had to admit, she wasn't fairing much better. Catching sight of Jim, she could see that he still had his camera, and was hastily wiping the dirt from the lens, the tape still whirring away.

_**XxxX**_

Optimus looked at the wreckage before him. The Ark, his flagship, was gone. All that was left was the husk of a dead vessel. He knew when she had died; the faltering lights and vibrating moans were the final death throws. Fighting against Earths gravitational pull had been far too much for her, and he knew what he would find as they started dismantling her; fried conduits, shattered relays, blown circuit bypasses and damaged fuel cells. She had given her all and was spent.

As he neared the ship, he scanned and rescanned, searching for minute shifts in the earth that could warn of a collapse. The Ark was leaning on her side at almost forty-five degrees; the only thing keeping her in place was the ground she had wedged herself in. He reminded himself to congratulate Prowl on his superb piloting skills, this should have been much worse.

::Optimus to Prowl.:: The Autobot commander waited. Those onboard the ship were most likely still trying to recover, but he wouldn't permit his mechs to venture blindly into the Ark. The ships fuel cells could still pose a problem, or there could be other unforeseen hazards. ::Optimus Prime to Prowl.:: he repeated, growing a bit worried.

::Prowl here.:: came the SIC's slightly garbled and static reply.

::Status.::

::Checking.:: Prime waited while the Autobot undoubtedly located and verified everyone's condition. It was several long minutes before the reply came.

::We need Ratchet, on board, now.::

::Ratchet get on board they require your skills. Everyone else, I want this ship secured by nightfall. Autobots get to it.:: Each mech stumbled to attention in anticipation of carrying out their individual duties, when the colossal ship shifted. The movement was unnoticeable to the humans, but the mechs registered every minute degree of motion. All optics focused on the gargantuan vessel, no one dared to move. As the Prime watched, the Ark shifted again, the change in the slant of the vessel was less that a human inch; a tiny warning that he heeded. Backing away from the impacted ship, he signaled his mechs to do the same. Running calculation after calculation he tried to asses all possible outcomes and wanted to be far enough away to avoid being caught up in those numerous possibilities. One thing was evident; the ground couldn't support the weight of the ship and was loosening its hold. ::Prime to Prowl, the ship isn't stable. Prepare for…:: He never finished his sentence as the Ark came free and slammed belly first onto the valley floor, snapping one of the landing struts and belching up huge amounts of dirt and debris into the air for a second time.

Prime stood his ground as he was engulfed in the dirt cloud, closing his optic shutters, he protected his delicate sensors and sealing his vents he attempted to keep as much of the impurities out of his systems. His thoughts were on the mechs inside the ship; they had endured a very rough landing, and most likely were still recovering when the ship came to her final rest.

Before Optimus could continue, the Ark sputtered to life one final time; true to her programming, she activated the Prime's personal distress signal. To the humans it sounded like a single 'ping' traveling over the land at an ear splitting note, to the Cybertronians close by, it overloaded their sensors and filled their HUD's with unnecessary data: telemetry charts, identification designations, readings on the immediate vicinity's environmental conditions, etcetera. Outward the signal traveled, alerting every mech that encountered it, both Decepticon and Autobot. The signal contained the coordinates of the ship's location and acted as a homing beacon.

As Optimus's systems reset themselves in a conscious attempt to purge the needless data, he opened his shutters to check on those under his command. The Twins were reeling; both were sitting in the dirt holding their heads. Ironhide seemed only mildly effected, as did Ratchet. Wheeljack was shaking his head in an attempt to clear his sensors. Glancing to the hill he made out the silhouette of Bumblebee was kneeling over the prone form of the femme. A slender red arm raised itself to the young mech and he helped Velocity to her feet. His crew was dazed, but recovering. It had just become imperative that Teletraan-1 and all weapons be pulled form the ship as soon as possible, chances were that they would have unwelcome company soon.

_**XxxX.**_

As the signal ballooned out from the Ark and into space, it was felt by every mech on the planet. The Decepticons raised their heads like wolves, scenting blood on the wind. Their leader advised them to ignore it; Soundwave wasn't going to rush into a fight with the Prime. No, he intended to use every bit of strategy he had at his disposal to crush the defunct leader once and for all.

Another mech felt the signal; it pulled him out of him long, comatose state and surged through his system like fire. Electrical signals raced along unused synaptic wires and he struggled to online all of his systems, one thought echoed through this processor, "Prime."

_**XxxX.**_

**A/N: **Please note, that there will be two week hiatus for Holding onto the Future. Don't worry, the chapter is ready to go, I will just be busy, and mostly away. Yes, I am evil for leaving everyone with a cliffhanger. *insert Benjamin's evil laugh (he does a great evil laugh, and he's looking for henchmen)*.

To **Punk Autobot **- I'm not gonna tell. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Thank you, more fight scenes are planed for the near future. And the net is total garbage (looks around suspiciously). To **Novamyth **- The next chappy is here (ta-da), and more seduction is planed. To **Benjamin Bradt **- ROFLMAO! You like it when I give you shite, you know you do.

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday. Merry Christmas, Blessed Yule, Happy Chanukah, Happy Kwanza, and any others I might have missed.

Oh, yea. Song lyrics are from _America_ by Neil Diamond.


	15. Cosmos

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, mech cannibalism (even I went "Ick"in some places).

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Important A/N: **Until this point, **Benjamin Bradt **has been beta reading and making subtle adjustments to the story. After many, many, many emails he has come up with some awesome ideas. So, this week we have done something different. **Benjamin Bradt **wrote the chapter and I beta read. He is a nervous wreck over this, and is probably hiding from me. Silly man.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Cosmos**_

_**XxxX**_

_His laugh was derisive, cruel, and there was true humor in the sound as he tightened his grip, delighted by the shriek of Cybertronian alloy as it warped in his brutal grasp. The Autobot wailed in agony as the armor plating on his arm began to crumple beneath the terrible strength of the Decepticon. Sharkticon's mouth twisted into an open smile as his victim's plating burst open, rewarding him with a cascade of energon and sparks that exploded out of the raw opening in a series of flashes, punctuated by a guttural scream as the mech went rigid, then limp, collapsing to the dusty surface of the planetoid. He peeled the buckled alloy from the arm as if it were the rind of an overripe fruit; and could not help but lick his lips in an obscene gesture, before bringing the wound to his mouth and drinking from it. Already broken, the 'Bot shuttered pitifully and looked away, too horrified to watch. Mournful blue optics filled with the sight of his deactivated brethren as his systems went offline for the final time. Once the Autobot's energon was fully depleted, the casing of his spark was consumed by the murderous cannibal that the Decepticon had become, and the villain felt no regret as he licked each finger clean._

_Rising to his feet like some unholy nightmare, Sharkticon crushed the Autobot husk under one tapered purple foot, sighing in an almost sexual release as the being known as Perceptor crumbled into nothingness. Before him, the lifeless bodies of Cybertronians decorated the barren landscape, homage to death and the lives he had stolen. The Wreckers had been famous on Cybertron, elite peace keepers who commanded respect and caution from the likes of Skorponok and Shockwave; they had come to this pathetic star system searching for the Allspark, chasing sensor glitches in the pointless hope that the life source could be located, but instead they had found _him_. Sandstorm had succumbed first, then came Twin Twist and the rest. The added bonus had been the trio of civilians along for the ride, who had contributed in their own special ways, and then there was the finest prize of all._

_A soft whimper lilted to his audio receptors like sweet music, and Sharkticon turned away from the dead, his focus on the living. The femme's huddled form lay curled near the wreckage of the Autobot ship, her pale blue plating stripped away in most places to expose the delicate inner workings of her design, her free hand clutching weakly at the metal spine that attached her other arm to a fragment of the ship's hull. The Autobots had been foolish to let such a delicate morsel roam around the galaxy. After Lord Megatron's successful annihilation of the femme forces, less than five remained active. The Femme medic had met her end trying to protect a recovering Autobots in a repair ward. The screaming pink warrior had such a high bounty on her head that many ignored the danger she posed and tried to collect the credits. And then there was this one, her optics told him that she had given up long ago, why else become a Wrecker. With the disappearance of the Prime and the Allspark, one would think the Autobots would be more careful with their remaining… treasures. _

_He knelt and lovingly stroked a patch of exposed conduit with one tapered talon, sending a shudder of revulsion through her savaged form. "Did you recharge well, my pet? Soon we will leave this wretched expanse and return to glorious Cybertron, where you will be presented to the Emperor himself."_

"_To the bowels of Unicron with you," she spat in a malicious tone, "Your emperor is even more reviling than you are."_

_Easing himself atop her, stretching his full length along her and as he allowed their energy fields to mingle, he watched everything she was shrink in upon itself, trying to save some measure of her sanity. Sharkticon clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "We'll have to get that rebellious Autobot streak out of you before we return; Shockwave is not as kind as I am." Grabbing her arm, he turned it so he could expose her access port._

_Several clicks away, under the cover of a stone shelf, a lone Autobot shuddered with the effort it took to not expulse energon from his vocal emitter. His silvery green armor matched the terrain's color perfectly, making him mostly invisible, but for the yellow optics that he closed in pain, turning away from the spectacle. Cosmos hated himself; Sharkticon had attacked them without warning, and with a bestial fury that belied his cruel intelligence, easily singling out the warriors and terminating them without pause, leaving him to pick off the remaining at leisure, save the femme. For her, he had different plans._

_The stocky mech opened his eyes and returned to the circuit panel exposed on his right arm; per the calculations Perceptor had made, Cosmos' nacelle engines could now serve as weapons, a configuration that the scientist had applied to his own external scanning array. The shoulder-mounted analyzer could be used as a deadly laser cannon, but when Sharkticon had pounced upon the gentle scientist the 'Bot had frozen up, literally stalled, and suffered in long agony before his final passing into the Matrix; that was assuming that part of you survived to reunite with the Matrix after an insane Decepticon with a repulsive oral…Primus, what the frag was that horrendous thing in the 'Con's mouth? He had never seen anything like it. _

_Cosmos had encountered many races in his travels, even borrowing his current alternate mode from one of the more advanced civilizations, but none of them were able to answer the questions of what the spark was, and what its extinguishing meant for a Cybertronian. After watching the Decepticon literally consume several of his friend's sparks, Cosmos wandered if it was a blessing not knowing what lay waiting on the other side._

"_I-I-I-I can't do this!" He jerked the arm panel closed, "I'm not a fighter! Twin Twist and Springer didn't last half a breem and they were seasoned warriors! I'm a scientist for the Allspark's sake, I can't fight that… that THING! Who does Springer think I am? Omega Supreme?" He rose quickly, knocking a nearby Cybertronian long blade to the ground, the tempered sword ringing harmoniously against the stony ground. Springer had polished and guarded the weapon religiously, spending his leisure hours in diligent study of the fighting arts… _

… _When he wasn't wooing Moonracer. But then again, who could blame him for being sidetracked by such an… enchanting being. He could not recall a member of the Wreckers who had not sought the favor of their only femme roster, be it Twin Twist and his extensive mock war scenarios, or Perceptor and his crystals and other terra-form anomalies. It would seem that only he was without a time where he'd shared her company alone; not because she thought herself above him, of course not. Moonracer was a gentle 'Bot with a spirit as pure as a comet's tail, and a spark as great as the Matrix of Leadership. No, if anyone wondered what the reason might be, it wasn't Cosmos. He knew the answer was that he had been afraid to try; he was heavily bodied with thick, cumbersome armor, socially awkward, terrestrially uncoordinated; he couldn't stop crashing into things. He'd seen her giggling once, when he'd missed a landing and nearly taken Kup's head off, and in that instant, he knew that there could never be a place in her radiance for him; the thought of her, muddying her coruscating spark by bonding with a misfit, little slag heap like him seemed almost as vulgar as what Sharkticon had done to her already._

_The sound of the Decepticon's chuckle, coupled by Moonracer's moan of shame, was enough to make the scientist reopen the panel, activating the power remodulation. "Spark be damned if I let it go further." He snapped it closed, lifting Springer's sword from the dusty ground with his other hand. "I'll die out there, but not before I feed him ten cubits of Quintesson alloy."_

**XxxX.**

The sun beat down harshly on the barren terrain; even in the winter, the sun scalded any life form foolish enough to risk the light in search of a tidbit of food. No plants or animals dared to exist within, or even near, the eerily ashen sands of this desert. Even at the southernmost point, where the terrain tapered off into the cool water of Groom Lake, life still refuse to grow. The entire expanse was unnatural white, and its equally pure waters that shone clear to the bottom, were forsaken by creation as unfit for the gift of occupancy by even the tiniest microbes. The serene lake and its miles of colorless beach were listless and quiet; with the raucous unveiling of the Autobot presence on Earth, the world's lustful eye for aliens had no further use for the boring patch of land, and the secrets beneath it. Descending a half a mile beneath the soil of the Nevada desert lay the jewel of the Air Force's crown; a genuine, alien spacecraft. Recovered from a crater at the center of a widespread impact radius of smoldering carnage, it had been meticulously secreted away and shipped to the only place where the government could secure its total confidentiality:

The Groom Lake Experimental Aircraft and Weapons Testing Facility . . .

Code Named

Area 51

"Can you believe this shit?!" A young scientist shouted over the biting whine of his metal saw as its blade scoured ineffectively across the surface of the alien aircraft, serving only to scrape the burn marks of past failures away, revealing the metal's true, viridian hue.

"What?" The other scientist present, a man in his mid 30's, with more bare scalp than hair, gestured unrecognizably as he tried to shout over the noise.

"I SAID . . . dammit, hold on a second." The saw ground to a halt, the scientist frowning at the noteworthy lack of teeth on the circular blade. "I said 'can you believe this shit?' The friggin' Autobots are going to land a giant spaceship right in our backyard, rife for the study, and all Harkon wants us to do is work on the Roswell craft and see if we can salvage any weapon systems."

"You're too green for something as high clearance as the Autobots, Mister 'Went-to-Vassar'." The bald man's mouth was a snide grin as he popped the lid off of a crate marked "E-X-P-E-R-I-M-E-N-T-A-L", withdrawing a massive cylindrical apparatus adorned with dials, knobs, and a variety of meters. "You have a lot of ass kissing to do before they'll let you play with the real toys and the real aliens."

"Again with the Yale talk, Professor Kendall?" The younger of the two rolled his eyes, his attention forcibly shifting away from the aggravating alien vessel, "Vassar is a prestigious and dignified institution, and just as good as Yale, or Harvard, or any oth… er… what the hell is that?"

"Prestigious and dignified, is that what you call it, Sport?" Kendall flipped a switch on the device's side, causing it to hum softly as the indicator lights began a slow path from the switch, to the barrel's end. "This is a modified, high-density particle beam cutter; it uses a focused stream of excited ions to break down the molecular bonds of matter, sort of like cutting something by rotting a thin seam through it."

"Thanks for that condescending bit of pointless exposition, Professor Obvious. I know how an EIP functions; I do have a Masters in Physics."

"From Vassar."

"God dammit stop belittling my alma matar!" The young scientist slammed the saw down with a loud 'crash', "And for the last time, stops calling me by your endless repertoire of androgynous small child terms! My name is Chase Falloy, not 'Scout', 'Skipper', 'Sport', 'Tiger', 'Junior', or anything else you might drum up!"

"Oh just take a pill and relax, Falloy." Kendall shook his head in disgust, "I've been working underground here for twenty years, and that volatile attitude of yours is only going to hold you back." Struggling with the cutting laser, the balding man awkwardly navigated the slick metal plates as he slowly climbed atop the flying saucer's outer ring. "This thing is a portable version of the extrapolator beam used to cut parts off Megatron, but they suped-up the beam to a particle weapon, rather than rely on the thermal laser."

"So this thing should have no issue cutting the hull open then!" Chase rubbed his palms together excitedly as he prepared to watch the fireworks.

"Put these goggles on," the professor said as he slipped a pair of dark lenses over his eyes, "This thing is supposed to be pretty bright." Kendall depressed the trigger and with an electrified roar, an intense beam of golden radiance lanced out, spraying sparks as it began the slow process of slicing through the anomalous green alien alloy.

_**XxxX.**_

"_Die you bastard progeny of Unicron!" Sharkticon's head snapped up as Cosmos sprang upon him, screaming a wordless battle cry as the glimmering sword sliced down, gouging a savage furrow through the Decepticon's hodge-podge, miscellany armor. Distracted by his interfacing with the femme and the suddenness of the Autobot's attack, he had been unprepared for the blow. The deep wound produced pain the Decepticon had never felt before; he staggered blindly backwards, gurgling in shock at the taste of his own hydraulic fluid as it spurted into his mouth._

_Cosmos hurriedly slipped the sword into the sheath he'd slung across his back, "Come on, Moonracer, we have to get you out of here!" He slipped his arms under her frame and lifted, struggling to keep balance with her, as the femme was taller than he._

"_I can't… " her voice was a digitized whisper; Sharkticon had taken a good number of liberties with her, and repeated use of her throat as a leverage point had left her vox circuitry crushed nearly beyond function. She squinted at her savior with one blue optic, the other obliterated by a surgical claw stroke across her cheek, "I can't…"_

"_Yes you can!" Cosmos squeezed the femme gently, his spark aching at the sight of what the monstrous Decepticon had done to her. Even with immediate aid from a skilled medical officer and access to a shipside repair dock, Moonracer would never be the same again. "I'm going to get you out of here, and we'll get help as soon as possible. I promise."_

"_I can't_…_kill me."_

_The words put ice in his conduits. "What?"_

"_I cannot go on any more," she said in a soft voice. "The things he will do to me… has done to me. It can't be repaired. Just end this." _

_Cosmos collapsed to his knees, but refused to let go of the femme. __"N-n-n-no… you can't be… serious!"_

"_My new concubine speaks some truth." Sharkticon smiled in delight as he watched Cosmos suffer, "If she survives, she will become my spark mate. I was going to give the femme to Shockwave as a gift, but I think I will keep her for myself. A spoil of war you could say. Pity about her face though. Now release my femme." _

_Cosmos tightened his grip around Moonracer and attempted to glare at the twisted abomination that was Sharkticon. The formidable mech opened his smiling maw and the proboscis slithered out of his mouth. It twisted like a turbo-cobra seeking its next meal. Looking at what was left of the pale blue femme in his arms, Cosmos became aware of the steady drip of energon; she had a ruptured fuel line and wouldn't last long without a medic. Her remaining blue optic silently pleaded, the decision crushed his spark, but he knew what had to be done._

_**XxxX. **_

The cutting laser fired another radiant beam into the ship's hull, leaving a clean seam in its wake as Kendall inched along the pre-agreed upon sizes of one foot by one foot squares. Chase set about removing the armor plates, stacking the neatly cut pieces on the floor. As he passed with another tile, a flicker of light caught his eye, and as he turned to see what had caught his notice. It took all of his willpower not to drop the slab of metal on his feet.

"DAVE!" The excited shriek was just barely loud enough to be heard over the cutting laser's whine, "David Lynch Kendall, you are not going to believe this!"

Sighing heavily, the older scientist gently set the tool down, "What are you wailing about now, you giddy little idiot?" He stepped down beside the younger man, almost falling over as the sight overwhelmed him. Behind the smooth impervious plating was a myriad of flashing lights and alien readouts, where only moments ago were dark, unresponsive instrumentations. The two men watched as a bizarre glyph language that neither of them recognized scrolled across on the readouts. "Oh holy Christ . . ."

"Freakin' awesome, huh?" Chase bounced on his heels, "It just started a few seconds ago. Near as I can figure, energy cast off from the cutting beam must have conducted through the circuitry in the nacelles."

"They've been trying to power this damn thing up for fifty years, and we do it by accident?" Kendall shook his head, "Not a chance…"

_**XxxX**_

"_Fragglitchshardslagaftprocessor in an engine shaft!" Streaking through space at maximum speed, it was all Cosmos could do to not overload and shut down from the shock. He had killed her; Moonracer, the femme he'd loved since he was first assigned to assist the Wreckers, she had been brutalized, savaged and was dying a slow death in his arms. Then he'd driven Springer's blade through her chassis and extinguished her spark. Now he was running for his life from that very same Decepticon amalgamate, who had transformed into some sort of nightmarish monstrosity upon the femme's termination, a malformed collection of spined tentacles, powerful wings, and a great maw filled with thousands of alloy shredding teeth. Merciful Primus, he was scared… at least he was faster._

_Not faster, however, than Sharkticon could shoot. Cosmos surged in pain as one of the deadly flechettes impaled his flank nacelle. The scientist was hemorrhaging energon and plasma into space as he lost guidance control, listing into a barrel roll that nearly embedded him into a micro-planetoid as the pair streaked through the debris-clouded solar system._

"_That looks like it hurt… Autobot BUTCHER! Honestly, I didn't know you had it in you." Sharkticon sprayed another cluster of projectiles._

_Cosmos barely weaved out of the attack's path, the deadly blades chewing an asteroid apart as they impacted it in a lethal volley. "Who are you calling a butcher, you cluster of space debris! Moonracer died the moment you thought about tainting her spark with your entropic malfeasance! What I did was more of a mercy killing than anything else!" He could not believe the words that poured out of his vox; was it so easy for him to rationalize away the murder of another Wrecker, particularly one he professed to love? What manner of monster was he becoming?_

_Sharkticon snarled and increased speed, grimacing as small pieces of detritus pounded his body like weapon's fire. "Run, run, run… you Autobots are all cowards! Turn and face me!"_

"_An unlikely course of action!" Cosmos shouted back, pleased to see Sharkticon struggling to keep up. As one of the few Cybertronians designed for deep space travel, Cosmos was installed with a Terrestrial Impact Field, an energy barrier that absorbed kinetic energy and redirected it around him, causing space rocks and other small bits of matter to brush around him without actually touching his chassis. At the high speeds required for interstellar travel, an improperly shielded 'Bot rarely lasted long, considering that a piece of asteroid the size of a wheel lug could penetrate and leave an exit wound the size of the Prime's fist._

_Snarling in blind fury, Sharkticon fired volley after volley of the deadly shrapnel, forcing Cosmos to zigzag to prevent getting his torso ventilated; unable to avoid the asteroids as well as the flechettes, the green space craft tipped a rim on a particularly large space rock, sending him into a spin that ended with three jagged barbs piercing his right side. The Autobot screamed in agony as energon and plasma spurted into the void, mixing into a frenetic explosion of scintillating colors that sent him spiraling out of control… and into Sharkticon's hands._

_Laughing maniacally, the Decepticon forced his fingers under the protective shutter that shielded Cosmos' head in his alternate form, grasping the scientist's cranial plates in his claws as he began to twist. "No more running, no more games. I'm going to rip your cranium off and stuff it into your core drive, you meddlesome little drone!"_

_Cosmos transformed immediately, his head emerging with enough force to drive the Decepticon's hand into his own face, making him to release the scientist. "I'll see you in the Pits, 'cause I'm taking you with me!" the mech yelled as he pushed both of his nacelle-turned-arms into Sharkticon's chest, shunting plasma into the mech's torso at close range. The energy surge knocked Sharkticon into a reeling spin, the larger mech roaring in rage as he drifted into the gravitational pull of a nearby blue-green planet, falling to the surface as a shooting star_

_Too tired to fight, his engines nearly exhausted, Cosmos assumed saucer form as he drifted into the atmosphere. "I can't pull out of the gravity well… I'll have to try and glide down to the surface…" The sudden entry into the oxygen rich atmosphere created a deafening 'whoosh' as the intense heat began to build around him. He struggled to maintain a level plane of descent, sensors scanning for a clear area to crash down into, when he witnessed the still active form of Sharkticon dredge itself from the blasted rubble of his impact point._

_The Decepticon staggered on his feet, body nearly crippled and severely damaged. Deep ruptures ran through his trunk and limbs, energon flaring like small bursts of lightning in the air as he staggered out of the hole. His feet slipped unsteadily in the desert sand, but he was moving, and in time his body's natural repair mechanisms might undo the damage wrought by the Autobot. He could survive._

_The scientist scowled in weary rage, "No… I cannot allow him to continue to function. Not after what he did to the others. Not after what he did to Moonracer." Ailerons on Cosmos' rim shifted, causing the scientist's spin to intensify as he sharply banked toward the ground. Below, it was the nearly ultrasonic whine that first alerted Sharkticon's audio receptors, causing him to tip his head toward the sky, squinting at the red pinpoint that seemed to race toward the ground. He realized, seconds before impact, what was barreling towards him and that there was nothing he could do. The damaged Decepticon screamed in true fear, his hands flying up in a pitiful attempt to defend against the searing hot hoplite that he had left as last for termination. Some part of him cursed his ego, for if he'd not have underestimated the stocky little scientist, he'd be returning to Cybertron a hero. That he would meet his end here, on a backwater alien world, ensured his spark would never receive rest._

_As the horrified Decepticon's face raced up to meet the vengeful meteorite Cosmos had become, a strange sense of quiescence washed over the Autobot; he was not afraid to die, not sad he would never see Cybertron again, or his dear friend Orion. Moonracer had been a brass ring he could never reach, and in mercifully deactivating her, some part of him had died as well. He was tired, so very… very tired._

_An image flashed through his mind; The Wreckers, their ranks full, the day they left Cybertron in search of the Allspark. Their faces were friendly, their optics… optimistic. They were afraid of nothing; there was no obstacle too great, because their friends would always be there to help them along. "Wait for me… my friends," Cosmos chuckled, "I'm coming home."_

_The reentry-heated saucer shredded Sharkticon's body like foil, filleting open his chest and exposing his spark to the alien sun; bright blue energon gushed into the open air in a thunderous rush, igniting on a guttering flicker of plasma that sputtered from Cosmos' dying engines, and the tranquil desert was suddenly aglow with the sun-like intensity of an explosion so fearsome that it bleached the golden sands an almost opaque white. The blast mushroomed skyward; its terrifying beauty became the symbol of utter annihilation to the inhabitants of the little planet. Cosmos' optic sensor array was filled with the disintegrating silhouette of Sharkticon's form against the awe-inspiring sight of a massive nimbus of hyper-electrified plasma, like a sun being born before him. It was a majestic sight to end a life by._

"_So… beautiful." Cosmos breathed the words, and then everything went dead._

_**XxxX**_

"What the hell was that?!" Dave Kendall staggered for purchase within the operations room that held the space craft as a tremor rippled through the underground bunker, thin cracks telescoping across the surface of the reinforced concrete walls. He tapped his ID Badge, "Operations, this is Bunker Seven; we just got rattled by a tremor down here."

"Negative, Bunker Seven," the crackling voice came back, "Reports say that the Autobot Ark just crashed down, some sort of engine failure during descent. Shallow impact, some light seismic ripples, nothing serious to re-"

'PING'

The harsh sound echoed within the tight confines of the room, almost deafening the two scientists with the high resonance of the simple tone. "What the hell is that?" Chase shook his head, his ears ringing.

"I don't kn- Oh God, Chase, look at the readouts!" The exposed dials and screens were going wild; strange glyphs and symbols began to register with an ever increasing rate. The lights began to fluctuate wildly, and a shrieking alarm bellowed from within the ship's confines. Trembling motions, as if the vessel were coming apart, began to shudder through the armored hull.

"What the fuck is going on?" Chase leapt off of the platform that surrounded the alien craft, tripped and crashed to the concrete floor behind the shelter of several large crates. Kendall followed close behind, slapping his hand across the trigger for the alarm, and diving for cover. Glancing around the meager protection, he was in time to witness the spectacle.

The ship was moving. The alien craft, which had lain inert within an Area 51's bunker for over fifty years, was slowly lifting off the metal supports it had been resting on. The exterior plates began to shift across its surface, revealing a collection of drive nacelles and several deep gouges that marred the surface. The ship was changing.

Alarms in the facility echoed shrilly throughout the concrete tunnels, and as the two scientists cowered behind their equipment when the doors burst open, allowing a squad of soldiers to filter in with weapons drawn. Their commander, a dark-skinned figure with an almost comical moustache, slid the rifle-end of his liquid nitrogen sprayer off in a smooth motion. "Ice it up boys! I want to be able to chill beer in that thing!" The soldiers hit the vessel with concentrated streams of liquid nitrogen, much as they had when subduing the Cybertronian scout, Bumblebee; the thick outer plates refused to freeze, grinding the thick bands of frost away as vents opened, sucking the heavy mist into the vessel. "Kill the streams!" The soldiers cut off their weapons instantly, watching in surprise as the nitrogen was drawn into the saucer. Deep within its drive core, the vapor was being combined with other gaseous elements from the environment, and with a resounding 'whoosh' the nacelles flashed to life.

The craft began to emit shrill static, forcing the soldiers to cover up against the painful noise. One of them resisted the impulse, blood coursing from his ears and nose as he withdrew his handgun and fired, the round ricocheting off of the luminescent nacelles with a sharp 'tang'. It went silent in response, the once cacophonous space filled with only the soft hiss of the vessel's engines sustaining its flight, before beginning to rotate. As the spin increased, the nacelles turned upward toward the ceiling, releasing crackling bands of plasma that chewed into the reinforced concrete, sending dust and debris through the room. "It's trying to escape, shoot it down" someone shouted, and the soldiers drew their arms and fired. The bullets coursed along the vessel's exterior as if led by some unknown intelligence, completing a flawless circuit of the green disc before spraying back at them. Some of the soldiers managed to escape with minor injuries, but most of them, their commander included, were felled by their own munitions.

Within seconds, many of the soldiers were dead, Kendall and Chase were screaming in shock at the carnage around them. They stared at the vessel in paralyzed awe as it continued to blast through the ceiling, fat beams of plasma carving a smoldering swath of destruction through the concrete, steel, and natural bedrock. Stopping its attack on the ceiling, it changed the focus of the beams to a wall. When the beams hit dirt, the space craft attempted to blast through an adjacent wall; there it was meet with success as the beams quickly opened a hole into the next bunker. It paused for an instant, scaring the two scientists into nearly soiling themselves when a powerful metal arm lashed out from the craft, grabbing one of the other pieces collected from the crash site with its thick fingers, before streaking into the newly created exit.

On the surface, several armored vehicles waited, their weapons primed on the access point for the underground base. Their radios were filled with the frantic screams of personnel as the saucer blasted its way through the underground facility, destroying walls and supports in its erratic pursuit of escape, leaving some of the areas to collapse under the weight of the ground above them. The alien vessel with no pilot used plasma and its own nigh invulnerable body as deadly weapons as it shrugged off arms fire from squads of trained air force personnel, stationary turrets, and small anti-aircraft machines, leaving a trail of apocalyptic ruin on its mad dash for freedom.

No longer trying to gun it down, people were hurriedly just trying to escape the base, which had begun to collapse from the structural damage the alien craft had caused. Someone looked at the clock; sixty-five seconds had passed since the alarms had sounded, and the army may as well have been standing still.

"It's at the primary doors!" The cry had scarcely left the receiver before the twelve

foot barricaded gate exploded into the air, swatting an F-18 as if it were a fly. The vessel launched from the portal as if it were a bullet, passing through the assembled guard forces too fast for them to even track on their systems. The jets caught glimpse of it as it passed mach three, streaking towards Tranquility, and the Autobot crash site.

"Holy Merciful God!" A pilot spat the words into his receiver, "Someone get a call into the Pentagon, that thing is a bat out of hell on its way to point zero!"

_**XxxX**_

Prime had called Bumblebee and Velocity down from their perch upon the nearby hill. Captain Lennox was now overseeing the welfare of the news crew and all those that had front row seats for the… crash. As he and the others had begun approaching the newly stabilized Ark, the wail of sirens cut through the air, and a troupe of military vehicles blew through the border established to keep the humans out of harms way upon the Ark's landing. A humvee launched over a small hill, locking its brakes and skidding to a halt before the congregation of Cybertronians. The driver, a fresh-faced man with stripes and a crew-cut, nearly fell on his face in his rush to get out of the vehicle. "Mister Prime, sir!" He shouted the words as he saluted, suddenly very aware of the drastic size difference between himself and the smallest of the mechs. "We just got a communication that there's a bogey coming our way!"

"Wheeljack." Prime's baritone voice was level and unwavering, but the assembled members of his team could feel the unease beginning to rise.

The scientist turned inward as he secured a link up with the base's security grid. "Nothing, sir. The 'bogey' has not passed into our sensor range yet."

The Prime turned his attention to the man in the Humvee. "What is the nature and origin of this mystery craft?"

"Unknown sir!" The young sergeant remained in rigid posture, "It registered on our satellite tracking as coming in at excess speeds of mach 3."

Ironhide spun to the Northeast, his cannons instantly humming to life, "We have incoming!"

"Wheeljack, Velocity, Ratchet, get inside the Ark and start the prep and evacuation of the injured. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, get the humans to cover immediately!" Prime drew his cannon, waiting. He barely had time to formulate a contingency plan when the intruder came into view. His barrel released a static 'whomp' as the energy blast streaked forward, grazing the vessel's bow. A warning shot. Ironhide and Bumblebee opened fire as well, using the hail of energy projectiles as a curtain to shield those who began their sprint towards the Ark.

They had not taken more than a few steps before the saucer unleashed a concentrated beam, carving a blazing swath across the earth before them. Ratchet leapt out of the way, while Wheeljack grabbed Velocity by the upper arm and flung them both away from the beam's destructive path. In an instant, the place where the femme had been standing was melted into a pristine sheet of glass. Seconds after razing the ground between the Autobots and the Ark, the silvery-green craft slammed into the earth with a thunderous crash, its position veiled by the cascade of acrid smoke and dust that rose from the seared vegetation and earth.

Prime ordered his team to hold their positions. In the stillness, his receptors strained to receive the barest sound, until a feral scream tore the air open. A great metal sheath, now empty of the Cybertronian blade, slammed to the soil a few meters from where it had flown out of the smoke. From the corner of his optics, Optimus registered his engineer shoving Velocity towards the Ark, and another mech snatching her up and dragging her to cover.

"De-zzzzz-epticon butcherzzzz!" The static sibilance of the Iaconian dialect knifed through the clearing, catching the Autobots off guard. "You've s-zzzz-laughtered m-m-my friendzzz, s-zzz-crapped my brotherzzz, and n-now you've got-t-t-t to pay for your crimezzz." The mech who emerged from the haze looked like the walking dead; his right arm hung limply at his side, perforated by thick spines of distinct purple hued alloy, but his left hand remained tightly wrapped around the handle of a blade, the metal gleaming darkly against the sun. His body had numerous wounds that seeped fluids and energon, the volatile energies crackling and flaring around him with each step. His face was badly seared, one optic shutter was fused closed, but the other gleamed a feral yellow. He leveled the blade toward the mechs before him. "In t-t-the name of the Prime, you s-zzzz-hall not pazzz!"

The gathered Autobots exchanged confused glances, but it was Optimus who tentatively stepped toward the ravaged mech. "Stand d-"

With a snarl, the green intruder lashed out with the blade, which would have slashed through the outer armor of Prime's face, had the commander not jerked back, out of the weapon's reach. The leader rushed in and grabbed his opponent by the wrist, twisting the hand with enough force to open it, allowing the strange weapon to fall harmlessly to the ground. Kicking the sword away, Prime moved to disable the newcomer, but barely avoided the plasma beam that fired from the still functioning arm. It missed Prime's head, but skimmed a shallow burn across the brightly colored metal on his shoulder.

Prime staggered backward, hand protecting the wound, as his attacker prepared to fire again. "Cosmos, stand down!"

The mech stopped in his tracks, staring hard at the larger one with his remaining optic sensor. Recognition passed through him like a wave. "Orion…" he breathed the name with reverence, collapsing to one knee.

"It is good to see you, old friend." Prime reached down to help his ally up, but Cosmos did not respond or even hear him; the Autobot had used up the last of his power in defending the Ark, and now his inert chassis kneeled before his Prime, like a robotic cenotaph of an Arthurian legend. Behind his battle mask, the leader's mouth turned down; his friend was in dire need of aid, and his well being was of much concern, but what was foremost in the Prime's mind was where had the space-fairing Autobot come from?

"Bumblebee, take Cosmos to the med bay, the rest of you to the Ark. The next alarm will not be a lost friend."

_**XxxX.  
**_

**A/N: **I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. Next week, Benjamin will be answering these.

To **Flyingtwinkie** - Yes, I am an evil tease. My Husband tells me that regularly. Oh, Simmons is going to have a lot of face time, he just won't like it. To **Ladyofthebookworms **- Thank you, it was a challenge and a lot of fun to write. I was hoping for that movie-in-the-head effect. To **Novamyth** - Thank you. Please share your craziness. I take inspiration for writing from some of the strangest sources. I hope this was worth the wait. To **Punk Autobot **- Thank you. See what happens when I have Discovery Channel going in the background when I write. To **Okami-chan **- Yippi, I 'm happy you liked the landing. I've had that in my head since the middle of _Finding Salvation _and just couldn't work it in. Unfortunately, I am a product of the Disco era and my MP3 is crammed full of deplorable music, I was hoping someone would go and look up that song. It's always been a favorite (I'm such a nerd). Just knowing someone experienced the effect I was going for makes all of the frustration in writing this monster worth the effort. Thank you. To **Benjamin Bradt **-I'll hold your widdle hand if you need me to.


	16. Remembrance

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**. Truly, the man is a genius… an evil genius, but a genius nonetheless.

And special hugs and thanks to **Okami-myrrhibis** for pointing out my mistakes.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Remembrance**_

_**XxxX.**_

Velocity cautiously peered around the unknown mech that had his back pressed against her, the intimate proximity of the new Autobot made her intensely uncomfortable. She wasn't sure which was worse, being shot at, or being latched onto by a stranger and shoved into a corner and not allowed to move. Small tremors played along her body as her pump raced at a frantic rate; a very real sense of fear had wrapped around her soul and was threatening to suffocate her. Her mate was still out there, the new arrivals wouldn't let her leave, and she didn't have any way of knowing what was transpiring.

Having been thrown aside by Wheeljack, she felt a confusing surge of joy and terse apprehension from Prime, as the hostile mech's weapons had melted the clay and sand of the desert into glass. She couldn't understand why Optimus had been so excited at the arrival of the attacker. Scrambling to her feet and trying to get her bearings, she found her self being partially dragged and partially carried to the open door of the Ark. She didn't have any time to argue or even think before she found herself inside the craft and in the rough embrace of another. The stranger in question was now in front of her with his feet apart and a wicked weapon pointed at the open portal. Looking around she noticed that the inside of the vessel was pitch black, and only a small amount the grey, overcast daylight had filtered its way into the ship. Turning her head, she saw that to her left was a hallway, complete with a several protoform 'Bots, all lined up, with an arsenal at ready, and as silent as ghosts; the steady glow of their optics cast strange highlights on their alien shapes. One of the warriors was peering around the corner with a long barreled gun pointing the way. Every couple of seconds he would glance towards her with an expression that contained more excited curiosity than she felt comfortable with; once, he even gave her a friendly wave. She shuttered in a phobic response. Grazing her cheek on her guardian's back as she turned away from the overly friendly 'Bot, Velocity glanced to her right. There was a single mech. He had dropped to one knee, aimed his weapon and never moved as he waited for the impending attack. The message was clear; anyone coming through that doorway was going to die and die quickly.

Inching her way around the Autobot, Velocity tried to get a better view of the events unfolding outside and was clueless to the fact that the mech shielding her was completely aware of her every twitch; her impromptu guardian didn't even spare her a passing glance as his hand found her face and shoved her behind him once more. For the femme, the wait was intolerable, the silence torturous and the first touches of claustrophobia were threatening to turn her anxiety into panic. After long minutes, a shadow slipped across the doorway, and everyone tensed in preparation of a preemptive strike. The air crackled with anticipation and vibrated with the hum of alien armaments, a subtle symphony composed of the elements of the Cybertronians ancient war. Unexpectedly, Optimus stepped through the opening, and the red femme almost screamed to her mate, but the others instantly dropped their weapons and bowed to their leader.

The Autobot that had been kneeling to her right, quickly stood from his subservient posture and addressed Optimus. As the two carried on a rapid conversation in Cybertronian, Velocity observed the mech; he was taller than 'Bee and had a graceful, yet powerful, build; unlike the others she had seen, he obviously had an alternate form, but she was certain nothing like it had ever been seen on this side of the Milky Way Galaxy. The bold patches of black and white only accentuated his otherworldliness, making the red marking on his head stand out, and struck some unknown chord deep within the recesses of her memories . . .

. . . tired and weak, her frail body wracked with pain, she stared up at a massive black and white demon as he broke her with the jagged length of rebar he clutched in his cruel hand. Laughing maniacally, Barricade mangled her flesh with the steel spine, every movement designed to prolong the tortured awareness she desperately clung to. Someone was screaming, the voice so hoarse and wrought with mortal agony she couldn't recognize it as her own.

"Get back, she doesn't know you!" The words, spoken by a familiar voice, were barely audible over the horrific, wet noises that accompanied her own display pinning, as if she were a butterfly with wings of human gore. The warm, reassuring sensation that flowed over her unchained Sira's mind from that tragic moment, slowly excising her from her death and coaxed her back into the land of the living. She allowed her self to be pulled along the tangled line of love and need she shared with another. As she struggled to open her optic shutter, she was greeted with the image of pure, cerulean optics framed in day-glow green hovered inches from her face, the light within them blazing with purposeful intensity.

Struggling to regulate the chaos that her body's rhythms had become, it took her a few tries to activate her vocal processor. "Ratchet, if you touch me I'll shove my hand up your tailpipe and extract your pump." The shaky, glitchy sound of her voice as she formed the words made the statement anything but believable and the raucous laughter that exploded around her let her know she had been clearly heard. The CMO's expression softened as he helped her to her feet. Glancing at Optimus, she saw the concern in his face was tempered by warm relief; the emotions coming through their bond let her know she was going to have a very large mech wrapped protectively around her the next few times they recharged.

"Velocity, what is wrong?" Prime finally asked her, moving so that he was close enough that their electrical fields could touch, but not so close as to inform any curious observer of a connection more complex than mutual respect.

She forced a weak smile, "Too much fun and excitement." Looking around her she

could see they had been joined by other mechs, most of whom she did not know; all of their optics were on her, scathing her with over-agonized curiosity. Prime had warned her of the attention she would receive as the first femme any of them would have seen in vorns, but even so, the newcomers' expressions of wide-eyed shock and amazement were getting to be too much. Knowing that she couldn't expect Optimus to shield her from their scrutiny without revealing too much didn't exactly make things easier, either.

"Velocity, can I talk to you?" Silently relieved, she just nodded and shakily followed him out of the spacecraft. She felt unusually cold, and wished the temperature outside was a bit warmer. Ratchet's snippy voice floated after her. "Oh for... Cliffjumper, for the love of Primus, calm down before you get the surges."

Emerging from the shade of the Ark's interior into the gloomy day, Velocity was immediately struck by the deep scar that gouged the ground open where the strange vessel had landed. The curious emotions that Prime had shared through their bond returned to her, and she lifted her eyes to his form. Even now, staring at the smoldering chaos that marked where the vicious enemy had landed, her mate's mind was wracked not with apprehension, but with deep concern. "What happened to him?" She asked softly, "Who was that . . . mech?"

Prime didn't look at her as he answered; his attention was focused on the distant caravan of vehicles heading their way. "His name is Cosmos, and he is one who I have known since before my candidacy as Prime had even been whispered. As for what has happened to him, I'm not sure," he rumbled in pensive disquiet, "The damage done to him was much worse than his…. landing should have wrought. For the time being, Cosmos has been remanded to Wheeljack for care; his power levels were dangerously close to permanent stasis lock, and Ratchet is required elsewhere at the moment. What I am most concerned about," he said softly as he turned his optics to her, "is what happened to you in there. You seemed fine one second, but suddenly, your systems started to go into an erratic shutdown. For a moment it was almost as if you were dying."

The burnished femme smiled bravely. "I'm fine… now."

"What happened?" The question held a carefully veiled demand.

She thought about lying to him so he wouldn't worry needlessly, but knew he would probably sense the deception along their connection. "I'm not sure. I was looking at the black and white mech and then Barri…Barri…." she stumbled over the name; the vile word refused to come out of her mouth, "…then I was reliving when… he attacked me." The statement was a surrender to the still looming memory but she said it as brightly as she could, as if the topic was feng shui-ing the base, not her all too recent near death experience. She wished her mate would turn his scrutiny else where, for all she really wanted to do was collapse into a quivering heap and wait for the memories and the chill within her soul to fade.

"Are you injured?" He asked in a practical manner. Velocity knew he was upset, for he was blocking the link between them and had slammed the door on his emotions. At that moment, he seemed to be nothing but a cold machine, but she knew the truth.

"Nothing serious, just a few scuff marks." She showed the Prime a place on her chassis where the polish was dulled, carefully letting her fingertips trace along the lines of her form. Sharing was the last thing from her mind, but as her mate touched the minor scrapes on her armor made her wonder if, "swapping paint," as Ironhide had so elegantly stated it, wasn't such a bad idea.

Prime's brow plates arched in concern. "I could buff that out later, if you would like?" he asked in cool dulcet tone. Keeping her shiny and well polished was on of his favorite ways to unwind, and the desire that washed along their bond as he dropped his shields made her reel for a second. The word "no" had just left her vocabulary.

Racing towards the pair of Autobots, a black SUV was leading a pack of tan military humvees across the dusty plains; the dark vehicle's brake lights flared, and the entire crew rolled to a swift stop at Prime's feet. Simmons jumped out of the nondescript Government Issue car, his normally pinched face twisted into a furious scowl. His cell phone was firmly wedged against his ear. "I'm finding out!!" The agent yelled to the unseen party. Velocity had seen the man in various shades of pissy, but right now, he looked flat out mad, and with the current events, she felt no humor from his discomfort. "Where the fuck is it?" He yelled at Prime, "Where the fuck is the Roswell craft, and I am not in the mood for any of your super-evasive diplomacy bullshit!"

Velocity was stunned and confused; what the man had said was in perfect English, but her mind refused to comprehend the full meaning. _What was he talking about? The intruder wasn't a UFO, he was an... Oh…. Oh, shit._

Prime's response shattered her inner monologue with its harsh chill, the massive leader radiating an almost ethereal cold; Simmons' temper burned a vibrant red, but it paled in comparison to the suffocating power of the Prime's empathic majesty. "If by the term 'Roswell Craft' you are referring to Cosmos, he is in the med bay being tended to by Wheeljack." The sheer animosity that curled within every elegant syllable her mate uttered was awe inspiring; he was apparently two steps ahead of her in understanding who had put the bug up Simmons' ass, and whatever connections he had made were not joyous.

Refusing to be subdued by the furious Cybertronian, Simmons held his ground, his arms crossed in defiance. "Cosmos? Is he one of yours?" The agent didn't notice that the soldiers who had evacuated their vehicles and followed him as 'back up' were beginning to creep away, unsure as to whether or not the titanic alien was going to stomp the agent through the Earth's crust and into China.

The massive Autobot kneeled to get eye level with the slippery man. "Yes, he is one of mine. Cosmos is a member of the peace keeping force, known across Cybertron as the Wreckers-"

"How fitting." Simmons cut Prime off with a snort, "Your buddy has single handedly destroyed the Groom Lake instillation, and in a little over a minute. They are still pulling the dead and injured out of the rubble. So, if you wouldn't mind climbing down from your high horse and explaining the whole 'we don't harm humans' policy again, just to make sure there's nothing 'Lost in Translation' between us, I'd be much obliged." For his part, Optimus looked shocked, and angry; very, very angry.

The Autobot's optics burned a blue so dark that they resembled the sky just after sunset, and his words were so strained that he sounded as if in pain as he spoke, "Why were you holding a Cybertronian at Area 51? The agreement was that all documents and artifacts of possible Cybertronian origin were to be remanded to me, no questions or conditions." Velocity knew what the mech was doing; he was attempting to turn the tables on Simmons, discredit him and strip him of authority in the eyes of the gathered humans, making sure that the man's plentiful obstinacy was not contagious.

It didn't work. "Don't get a snotty with me, Big Guy. The Roswell craft didn't resemble anything we associated with NBE1, NBE2 or the rest of your kind; the assumption was that it hailed from a different race and was just a ship; therefore, none of your business. If every friggin' giant robot on this planet wasn't so determined to disguise himself as unassuming everyday objects, this wouldn't happen." Simmons purposefully baited Prime with the 'R' word, using as if it were a racial slur.

Optimus looked like he was about to say something, but chose instead to hold his vocals. The Autobot commander stood and walked back the Ark, ignoring the gathered humans. Velocity had her arms wrapped around herself to stave off a frigid cold that she felt from the inside; his anger was not directed at her, but in the face of the palatable emotion, the knowledge was of little comfort.

_**XxxX. **_

Prowl watched as the Autobot commander drumned his fingers in silent contemplation; the Prime was slouching sideways in his chair, legs stretched out to the side of the desk with his chin resteing in his other hand, a ridiculously organic posture. Optimus and his crew had been on this backward planet for too long, establishing tentative relations with the inhabitants, adopting their illogical customs and gestures; apparently, the humans were a very influential force. He contemplated the new blue and red flames that decorated his leader's chassis; he thought it was garish, but strangely appropriate. Only Optimus Prime, Supreme Commander of the Autobots could wear such a paint job and have no one snicker behind his back about it.

The tactician knew his superior was furious; the chill that radiated from the mech acted like a warning for all to heed. The Prime straightened his posture and started typing instructions to Teletraan-1, initiating its backup extraction protocols; once completed, the AI would completely shunt its personality matrix out of the Ark and into its primary memory drives, then reformat the ship's computer to eradicate all traces of information. The drive could then be removed and installed into the underground base's computer system, and even if the Decepticons did gain possession of the Ark's computer, there would not be a string of code to salvage. The ship's memory would be an empty husk, devoid of any evidence that it had, at any time, contained the vast well of information known as Teletraan-1.

Primus, it had been so long since the Autobots had had their rightful leader to guide them. There was so much that the Prime had to be informed about, so many questions to be asked and answered. Rubbing his face with a weary hand, Prowl approached his Prime. "Sir. The main cannons are offline and Wheeljack is overseeing the removal. Ratchet has evaluated Cosmos, Drift, and Smokescreen. Smokescreen should be back on the active duty roster in approximately 5 cycles. Cosmos should make a full recovery in time, and there is no hope for Drift. The CMO is making him as comfortable as possible... "

"You didn't come here to debrief me. You could have sent me a communiqué to update me on the status of our friends." The Prime turned and met Prowl's emotionless gaze; the azure points glowed with knowledge and compassion. Prowl suddenly found it difficult to engage his vox unit. "Would you like to know about Jazz?" The soft words of his leader stabbed at the tactician's spark like tiny barbs. He hadn't considered asking, there was so much to do, and to indulge in such a… personal issue was unconscionable. Meaning to respond in the negative, Prowl found his head nodding slowly in affirmation. Optimus stood and checked on the status of the AI. "It will take Teletraan awhile to finish her shutdown protocol. Follow me," the Prime said in serious tones. The black and white mech silently moved behind the larger mech, pondering why the enigmatic Autobot leader referred to the computer as "her".

As Optimus lead them through the desert, Prowl scanned the environment around him; the air contained huge amounts of potentially debilitating grit and debris, as well as large amounts of corrosive elements such as oxygen; mercifully, the climate was relatively dry, so oxidation would not be an overwhelming threat. Very small life forms moved about and around the sparse vegetation; most were minute, primitive, exoskeleton-sporting organisms, but a few higher forms with soft, fur covered bodies and warm blood were present as well. The atmosphere that domed over them was obscured by thick clouds that moved and swirled above, defusing the nearby star's heat and light. Not the most beautiful of places, but not the worst terrain Prowl had laid his optics upon. Prime continued towards a building that sat within a fenced area; the perimeter fortifications were inexcusably flimsy, in Prowl's mind. The thin woven mesh of wires wouldn't stop a microbot; much less provide protection from attack. Stopping, the tactician took in the full panorama around him. He was stunned, and shocked. This was the worst place to establish a base. The land around them was flat and offered no protection. The humans had built buildings that stood out like rust pustules on Unicron's aft. There was little opportunity to defend the base, it was open on all sides, and a seeker could easily level everything. Gazing to the distance, he could see the rise of hills and wondered why Optimus had not chosen to station himself amongst those. At least the small slopes could offer protection and make enemy flanking maneuvers more difficult.

Crossing into the darker shade of the enormous building, the SIC watched as Ironhide climbed out of a perfectly spherical hole in the ground. Prime strolled over and offered a hand to the veteran. Watching his leader stoop over to help the weapon specialist climb to the surface, Prowl felt envy flicker across his spark; the two mechs before him had a friendship that truly spanned the ages. Ironhide had known Optimus long before he had become Prime; they were comrades that eagerly stood shoulder to shoulder. Prowl had never felt that close to anyone… not even Jazz, his own brother.

After helping the dark mech to his feet, Optimus asked, "How much damage did the seismic tremors cause?"

Ironhide wrinkled his facial plates. "Not as much as it could have. There is a partial ceiling collapse in corridor three and the balcony in the rec room needs to be reinforced, but the structural damage is minimal. Oh, the elevator is out of commission again; a piece of wall plating warped a bit, and the platform hangs up on it." Nodding to signify that he was cataloging the information that the weapons specialist had imparted upon him, Optimus passed his comrade and leapt into the hole, descending out of sight into the Autobot base below. Silently, granting Ironhide only the barest hint of a glance, Prowl followed suit.

The halls were long, stark, and mazelike; Prowl immediately approved of the confusing orientation of the base's layout, making a note to thoroughly familiarize himself with the design once he had resolved the more pressing issues on his list. A mech known for his grand orations and eloquent speeches, the Prime remained eerily quiet during their walk. The only sound to break the mausoleum-like silence was the rhythmic tapping of their feet as it echoed in the empty corridors. Prowl found himself dealing with a case of mild unease, emerging as a mechanical tendency to check for his weapons every few seconds. "Prime, sir. There is still an enormous amount of work to be done. Perhaps it would be better…"

The deep roll of the other Autobot's voice halted the SIC in mid sentence. "Everything is being dealt with, and I think the sooner you see Jazz, the better."

Prowl cocked his head to the side, optic shutters opened wide. "Jazz is here?" The SIC cursed the nervous crackle in his tone.

Optimus led him to a bare patch of wall hid the heavy doors of a refrigerated vault. "He is." The Prime sent a coded signal that opened the seals with an audible hiss and the wall receded, exposing a dark chamber.

With no small sense of apprehension, Prowl slowly penetrated the dim of the room, allowing his optics to adjust, revealing the sight of his brother's deactivated body.

Despite preparing himself for this moment during his time of guiding the Ark to Earth, Prowl reeled for some anchor, something to attach his mind to and reaffirm that the horror before him was the harsh reality he'd stared down for countless vorns. Stalling and afraid to face the inevitable, the tactician glanced at his surroundings. Through the swirling frost of the cooled air, he could see a stack of stasis pods. For a brief second he was distracted with wondering what the protoforms housed within looked like. Then he chided himself, he knew that the pods were prized for storing other items as well; there would be no more of their kind. There was also a pile of Earth manuscripts, the purpose of which he couldn't fathom, but knew he would learn about later. What was left of the Allspark rested in a case nearby, frost obscured some of the glass, but Prowl could still make out the shard. He wanted to focus on the fragment, but knew if he procrastinated too long his leader would, literally, take him by the hand and lead him to his brother's remains. Turning his attention to the deactivate mech that inhabited to room, Prowl approached his sibling for the last time.

Jazz was at the back of the room, lying on a recharge berth as if resting while he listened to some hideous alien music, but it was an illusion. The damage the silver mech had suffered was extensive. The body was scarred from the confrontation with Megatron, claw marks and punctures littered his body. Although, pieced back together some, it was evident that the Lieutenant had been ripped in half and then pulverized like a discarded container of lubricant. His face, frozen in the last expression he had made, was set in grim determination; he had died in combat, bravely standing against the enemies of Cybertronian peace, and deep within his spark, Prowl envied him. There was no question; Jazz would be forever remembered as a hero, the mech who stood between Megatron and Optimus, giving his last flicker of his spark to ensure that the greatest enemy the Autobots had ever known would never darken another day. His entire career, Prowl had thought of his brother as nothing but a lackadaisical, shiftless soldier of little merit; it took his deactivation to open Prowl's eyes, revealing that he had never really known the mech his brother was, a disappointment that he would have to suffer for the rest of his life. He wished he could turn back the clock, apologize to his brother for all of the times he had treated him like a nothing, all the times he had looked down on Jazz like a failure. He wanted to grasp his brother's chassis in an embrace and scream wordlessly, cursing the Matrix and the war for stealing away the only person he had ever had, but never taken the time to really know. He hated Megatron. He hated the war. He hated his brother for being too good of a soldier. But mostly, he hated himself.

Nothing could be done, nothing could change what had happened, and nothing could bring is brother back from the Matrix. Prowl's hollow words echoed around the room, "I want him salvaged."

The emotionless statement took Prime by surprise. "I am sorry, what did you say?"

"I want him salvaged." Prowl did not turn to face the Supreme Commander, hoping the other mech couldn't see his hands had curled into fists. "I want his weapons and armor recouped and used to speed the repair and rearming of our mechs."

"Prowl," Optimus laid a hand on his second-in-command's shoulder, "You don't have to act right now. Take a few cycles, clear your processor, and come back after you take some ti-"

"With all respect, SIR," Prowl turned on Prime with shocking speed, his voice a snarl of bitter rage. "We are in the middle of a WAR. I don't have the luxury of a few cycles to muddy my processor with useless, organic, emotions! The Decepticons will not assuage a full assault because you think I need to whimper over Jazz's termination like some feeble sparkling!" Prowl's optics burned with impotent fury as he glared angrily at Optimus, not realizing that he had wrapped his fingers around the handle of his blaster, until he felt the cool metal in his palm. "Oh… " He immediately dropped the weapon, kicking it to Prime's feet. "I am so sorry, sir, I do not know what came over me… " With some struggle, the tactician replaced his normal veneer of cool indifference.

"It is alright Prowl," Prime picked up the sizeable cannon, handing it back to his SIC. "I have faced the death of countless friends and loved ones; I hate this war as much as anyone else, and know too well the things it makes us do."

Prowl refused the weapon. "There is no justified reason to do what I have done. I am clearly unfit for the position as your Second-in-Command. I'll provide you wit-"

"Just mute it for a micron!" Prime barked the order in Iaconian, causing Prowl to immediately lock up in a rigid, military salute. He continued in a more soothing tone, "You have just lost your brother, Prowl, you are permitted a period of grieving and irrational behavior. When Elita died, I was all too eager to curl into a ball and wait for the High Protector to relieve me of my position and head. I spent too long wallowing in self-pity, trying to will myself into deactivation, and while I cannot justify the time I spent in such a state, I realize that it is a natural response. Losing someone you are bonded to, be they sibling or mate, it is enough to destroy a 'Bot. We are allowed to be sad, so long as we honor their memory by moving on with our own lives."

Prowl took a deep measured of the words, as he took the weapon from Prime, returning it to the holster. He laid a hand on the corpse, the glow from his optics illuminating his brother in an ethereal light. "After I received the communiqué that Jazz had fallen in the line of duty, I was easily resigned to it; he was fighting alongside the Prime, it was bound to happen eventually, casualty of war and all that. But when I went into his quarters to collect his things, I was... stunned… by the realization of how little I actually knew him." Optimus nodded silently, allowing him to continue. "I had always looked at the less than professional way he conducted himself and assumed that he just… didn't share my dedication to the cause. But his quarters... he kept intensely detailed reports of everything he did; complex strategies, in-depth intelligence reports of enemy strongholds, catalogued schemata of Decepticon weak points…"

"Jazz was a meticulous soldier," Optimus added softly, "I would not have appointed him as my First Lieutenant if I thought of him as anything less."

"But I didn't know!" Prowl nearly screamed the words in frustration, and then shook with the effort it was taking to control his emotions. With calmer words, he continued. "All I saw was the façade that he showed everyone else, and I just assumed…" he broke off into a pained silence. "It was easy to assume that he was too wrapped up in his music and his femme chasing to care about the war, and I just accepted that he was a disappointment, and moved on." Prowl rhythmically curled and uncurled his hand, the only sign of his inner turmoil; gears and hydraulics whined with the strain. "It shouldn't have been so easy for me to accept that he was a nothing. I never once told him how important he was to me. All I ever did was disapprove of him, because I wasn't smart enough to see through the lie and recognize the military genius that he was."

"Jazz was devoted to the lie; he invested his every waking moment into cementing the belief that he was a 'shiftless aft chaser', because it made him that much better at what he did." Prime grabbed Prowl's wrist, forcing him to stop. "Your brother knew that you cared for him; he felt it in his spark, whether or not you said it. He also knew your motivations, and how proud of him you would have been, had you known the truth." The Autobot commander deepened his already mournful tone, "I only wish my brother had been so compassionate; then, we wouldn't be in the middle of this blasted war, mourning the loss of those we love."

Prowl stood in silence for some time, staring somberly into Jazz' empty optics. "I envy you, sir."

"For what?"

"The bond you share with Ironhide." Prowl turned his gaze to Optimus. "Yours is a connection that resists time itself, the connection I should have had with Jazz, had I not been so self-absorbed in my own affairs." He cycled his vents in a deep sigh, "I wish I could share so deep a bond with someone; I can only imagine how profound it must be, to know the unwavering closeness of another."

"I am thankful for every cycle that I have Ironhide to rely on," Prime smiled fondly, "The bond of friendship has both its good and bad points, but it is well worth it. The only thing better is the bond of a mate." Prime shifted to his feet, "The only thing that prevents the others from becoming so close to you as Ironhide and I have become, is your own hesitation; there is a risk in opening yourself up to someone, but the reward is well worth it."

Prowl watched his leader walk away, mulling over his words. "Sir." Prime paused, looking over his shoulder at the black and white mech, "I would like Ratchet to oversee the parting out of Jazz, once he has the time. But until then... I would like to spend a few breems with him… to say goodbye."

The commander smiled knowingly, "Of course. I'll make sure Ratchet knows to expect your message."

"Thank you, sir."

_**XxxX**_

**A/N - **This week is hosted by **Benjamin Bradt**, since he wrote chapter 15, and any comments I make will be _italicized. _Take it away Ben.

**ladyofthebookworms**

I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter; please pardon the misnomer of the base, I was afraid if I let on that I knew too much, they'd abduct me again. _*makes a hat out of aluminum foil and hands it to Ben* This should help._

**VAwitch**

OHMYGODPLEASEDON'TKILLME! Honestly, glad you liked the chapter. _Ben is the champ of twisted, the down side of him killing off the Wreckers is that now I can't use them._

**flyingtwinkie**

I like writing twisted and macabre stuff, I like watching people squirm. ^^ _Yes. Yes he does. You should see the stuff he sends me._

**thephoenixqueen**

Well don't get your ass shot off or anything, I intend to write more in future chapters. _The wrote a chunk of this weeks chapter also. Please, stay safe_

**kinred**

I disagree; as I'm writing in Shielah's story, I'm very nervous. Her work is incredible, and I don't want to bollocks it up. _Thank you for enjoying the story, this chapter is different from the rest, but it does play HUGELY into the plot. Ben stop stroking._

**Northwest Sage**

I am very pleased you liked it. Cosmos has always been one of my favorites, and I thought it was time he get to have some seriously epic fun. _Cosmos needs more love!_

**Lady Taurucis**

Well, I'm very happy to know you enjoyed it, as is Shielah. The story is only going to skyrocket higher and higher, in preparation for a nail-biting plummet from orbit. Get some popcorn and a drool cup, it only gets wilder from here on. _Thank you. Thank you and Thank you. I'm not sure that the plot will be that good, for we are still working things out… Write, and share. Let us know when you post. Please._

**I-love-me-some-leggy-poo**

_*Glomp* I'm glad you found me… us…this. Don't be shy, oh, I forgot you aren't_


	17. Nothing Lasts Forever

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**. His skill and talent is woven throughout this chapter.

_**XxxX**_

_**Nothing Lasts Forever**_

_**XxxX,**_

Catherine sat in the commissary with a cup of coffee in her clasped in her hands and tried to stop shaking. She had survived the destruction of Tranquility, but that had seemed more like a lucid nightmare than anything else. It had been so surreal witnessing the aliens wage war that she had forgot to fear for her own life. Jim had called it Traumatic Detachment or some such pseudo-psychological term; she thought he made it up. Having never been to a war zone, she didn't have any frame of reference; the scariest thing she had experienced was a bunch of crazed brides-to-be rush a store that was having a liquidation sale. She had never even been out of the country; she was just a smalltime reporter that was trying to cash in on a lucky break and realized she was in way over head and there was no way out. Taking a sip of java, she spilled a little on her Dior blouse and didn't care one bit; she was alive and could buy another one.

Watching the Ark descend through the clouds had been one of the most amazing things she had ever witnessed. So in awe of the sight, she had even forgotten to comment on the events as they unfolded. She was pretty sure that Jim had miles and miles of footage of her just standing there with her mouth hanging open. Not the most professional moment in her career, but then again how many people can say that they have actually watched an alien spaceship land. She was fairly sure that list was limited to the people in the room with her. And then… and then the monstrous UFO just crashed. It started to fall from the sky and she had been scooped up in the arms of the red femme…Velocity… that one went by the name Velocity. After that it was just one traumatic moment after the other, punctuated by stretches of intense, calm silence. When it all seemed over another strange craft arrived and started shooting at everything before slamming itself into the ground and challenging Optimus Prime.

Glancing around Catherine watched the countries finest stuff their faces with roast and salad and carry on as if they all hadn't almost been squashed flat, suffocated by dirt or melted be the intruder's death rays, and all in less than twenty minuets. For all she knew that could be a normal day around here… and these robots were the good guys. Setting her mug on the table she proceeded to prop both elbows on the smooth surface and buried her face in her hands. She really wanted some rum to fill her cup with.

The scrape of a chair leg on the floor interrupted her thoughts; looking up, she saw Mikaela. Witwicky's wife. It had been made very clear to her and Jim that the woman was not to be photographed. At first her reporter's instincts had balked, infringement of the freedom of speech, the public's right to know… then she saw the tired eyes and slightly swollen belly and the way the Autobots and soldiers alike doted on the beautiful woman. A conscious she never knew she had chosen that moment to assert itself and she gave into the request. The bitter barb of jealously pricked at Catherine as she wondered if she would ever have anybody that would care that much for her if she became pregnant.

"Are you alright?" the brunette asked her.

She couldn't help but snort. "Is it always like this… here, living with the Cybertronians?"

Mikaela chewed on her bottom lip for a second, and a soldier walked by and patted her shoulder. In return the young woman graced him with a smile. "Nah, most of the time it is pretty dull, but the 'Bots are a lot of fun to talk to. Sometimes, when they get a bit over energized, they start telling stories about Cybertron. It makes you realize what they have lost and how much they value our friendship."

The reporter smelled a story; what she knew about the Cybertronian war was only what had been officially released to the general public. The few seconds when the flying robot had arrived at the landing site, had given her a glimpse into the fighting prowess of these enormous beings. She wanted to talk to Witwicky's wife some more, but Jim chose that second to make his grand entrance and spoil the moment.

"My gear is gone! The camera is gone and all of the footage is gone! The motherfucker confiscated it ALL!" The screaming tirade only drew minimal attention from the soldiers. Catherine wondered if they would all remain so calm if it had been a twenty foot alien throwing such a snit fit. Perhaps everything _is_ relative.

"What do you mean it's gone?" she finally asked as the cameraman's words sank in. "Are you sure you just didn't… misplace it?"

Jim scowled at her, and she knew her mistake, he wasn't that irresponsible with his equipment. "No," Jim replied, making the simple word sound like it hurt. "That asshole Simmons walked into my room with a couple of goons and took it all. He said it was in the interest of National Security, and we might get it back once they verify a few things." The man was so mad his face had turned the same color of his gin blossoms. He wasn't alone; Catherine could feel the heat rise in her face as well as her anger. They had done nothing wrong. As a matter of fact they had followed every stupid little rule and instruction they had been given; no pictures of the equipment, no pictures of the mechanoids up close, no pictures of Mrs. Witwicky, don't wander around, don't bother the Autobots, don't touch, don't talk, don't sneeze, just stand in the corner and stay out of the way. They had willingly done it all and then they get the shaft broken off halfway up. She wasn't going to stand for it. Sliding her chair back with venom, she stood and straightened her stained shirt.

"Come on, Jim. Let's go find Special Agent Simmons."

_**XxxX**_

The hum of massive generators softly reverberated throughout the crippled ship as they supplied power to light the dark interior and run some of the equipment. The deeper Velocity moved into the vessel the less she could hear of the outside world. Gone were the good natured shouts of the soldiers as they harassed each other. Absent was the whistle of the winter wind that whipped around the angle of the ship. Missing were the tiny sounds of life she was so accustomed to; it was as if she was intruding into a mausoleum. In a way the silence was refreshing, solitude was a rare treat in her new life. With a data pad clutched to her chest she allowed her optics to voraciously gobbling up every little detail of the great craft. It was a space ship, a real live, not-from-this-world-space-ship. Every line, every dial, knob, read out, button… everything was different from anything she had ever seen. She was giddy with excitement and knew it would seem incongruous, considering she was now one of the aliens, and couldn't help but chuckle at herself. She pondered the architecture of the base and compared it to the Ark. They were nothing alike. The Base was so mundane and terran in design, then it hit her, Optimus planed it that way. Humans would be decidedly uncomfortable had the Autobots decorated the base with extraterrestrial flourishes.

Turning down a long corridor, she glanced at, what she assumed were schematics for the ship hanging on the walls… or the images could have been Cybertronian pornography for all she knew. Either way, she didn't understand the images and they held little interest for her. It was a picture mounted among the charts and diagrams that grabbed her attention and she stopped to admire it. She wasn't sure what the medium was, but it resembled paint… a bit, but not really. The "painting" showed incredibly tall towers pointing to the black, star lit, sky above. Around the spires was a crescent shaped building. Maybe it was a building; it as a structure of some type that seemed to float at an odd angle. She was mesmerized by the image and lost herself to the detail of the cityscape.

"Iacon was beautiful, wasn't it?" The reverent words made her jump and spin to face the mech that had startled her. He was a strange moss green color, with perfectly round headlights. Standing a good bit taller than her, he wistfully smiled down at her; gentleness lit his optics. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you." His words were so sincere that Velocity had little doubt that he really did feel bad about making her jump, but to her he was still and unknown entity. Smiling meekly at him, she stepped away from the newcomer, hoping her wouldn't try and touch her. She didn't want to have to explain why she shot a fellow Autobot.

As she headed down the hall a good natured laugh echoed in her audios. "It's alright Little One; if I were you I would be cautious too. I just wanted to introduce myself, the name's Hound." Looking over her shoulder, she saw him smile warmly and wink at her.

Nervously checking the schematics on the data pad, she made sure she was heading in the right direction. Getting lost in the Ark was not her idea of fun, and Optimus would never let her live it down if he had to come and "rescue" her. She didn't mind helping out, actually, she liked being able to assist in any way she could, but she was getting tired of constantly shuttling things between Prime and the new mechs. She knew what her bonded was doing, he was forcing her to spend time in the company of the others when all she wanted to do was go hide in a hole. When she had confronted her mate about his not-so-sly tactics, he just smiled knowingly and asked if she would take an updated document to the CMO. Grumbling about wireless technology and advanced robotic aliens, she stalked out to the Ark.

The corridors were dimly lit, casting deep shadows and unfamiliar angles. She let her mind wonder to what it would be like traversing the reaches of space, visiting different worlds and seeing creatures only imagined in the pages of comic books. Listening closely she could almost hear the ruckus a ship full of boisterous Autobots would make. Smiling to herself, she thought about being curled in her mate's arms with only an endless star field to gaze upon and nothing but time.

Taking an elevator to an upper level, Velocity checked her location again to make sure she was where she was supposed to be. As far as she could tell, she was on the right floor and let headed off in the direction indicated. Her mind happily occupied itself by thinking up the various ways she and Optimus could spend long centuries entertaining each other while confined in such a vessel.

Stepping into the med bay of the Ark, all of her lascivious thoughts stuttered and stopped. The scene before her choked her back to reality and all she could do was stare. A mech was stretched out on a table in the center of the room; most of his outer armor had been removed to allow numerous wires and hoses access to his inner mechanics. As she watched, dull blue energon left his systems, traveling through a clear tube and into a strange machine that hummed noisily and back into his body. Small details were coming into focus and her mind, to shocked by the entire image, was processing a little at a time. He was missing the better part of his right side. Raw wires and crushed sensors were exposed to the air, while lubricants and energon slowly dripped to the table he was laying on. She couldn't see his optics, the mech's face was turned away from her, and for this she was thankful.

Looking around the room, she tried to quickly locate Ratchet, but her optics kept wandering back to the… wreckage on the table. Quietly, she turned to leave and stepped, face first into the medic. Bouncing off of his armor, the chartreuse mech wrapped an arm around her to keep her from falling or stumbling. He brought his finger to his lips to silence her. "What?" he snapped with an electronic whisper. She only held the data pad up to him, her gaze threatening to slide back to the injured mech. The CMO took the device from her and started reading it. He let her go and stepped out of her personal space, a frown creasing his features. Most of her wanted to leave, but she stood in the tomblike silence, waiting to see if she had to return the pad to Optimus.

A wet, gurgling cough broke the heavy stillness. They both looked over at the patient; he had turned his head and was looking at her with dim optics. In garbled, static filled Cybertronian he spoke. Ratchet sat the data pad aside and moved towards the dying mech. Bending close and running gentle hands over a warped forearm and medic slowly shook his head and answered in soft clicks and chitters. Velocity saw the mech's dull optics brighten just a little and then dim once again.

Curiosity emboldened her. "What did he say, Ratch?"

The chanteuse Autobot didn't look up as he adjusted the way a hose was laying. "He wanted to know if he had already joined the Matrix, because that is where all the femmes reside. I told him 'no'."

A gurgled choke drew her attention back to the wounded 'Bot. "What the…CMO said…was that only the Pit…was populated by…such vivacious and fetching beings that could torment a mech…with nothing more…than a look." His words were labored and strained, but delivered in precise English.

The expression on the medic's face was truly priceless; the Autobot appeared to be flustered. Velocity raised a brow arch and turned her attention to the embarrassed mech. "That was not what I said!" he huffed. "Drift over here was a poet before the war, and he still thinks he is some sort of romantic."

Taking a new appraisal of the patient, she raised her hand in a very terran greeting and said, "Hi, Drift." The mech flicked his remaining hand to call her over to him. She glanced at Ratchet, who just nodded permission. With slow steps she approached the dying Cybertronian. She tried not to stare at the hideous injuries that Drift was suffering from, and focused on his face, which was relatively unmarked.

"So what is your…designation?" he asked slowly.

Smiling demurely she answered, "Velocity."

The bubbling and sputtering that erupted from the poet was accompanied by a pulsing stream of energon that shot into the air. Ratchet deftly stopped the flow and sat about repairing the rupture. Drift finally emitted a couple of noises that resembled laughs. "With a name… like that… don't try to be… modest…. It does not… work."

She stood there with wounded grace and watched Ratchet's poor attempt to cover his own laugh. "Great, Optimus gave me a shitty name," she finally huffed.

Drift's optics brightened once more and he struggled to move towards her. "The Prime…named you?" The words came out with such a sense of awe; she wasn't sure how to respond. All she could do was nod. "Please… little femme… stay with me for a while… make your… rare countenance the… last thing I see."

Stunned into silence she didn't trust herself to talk. A firm hand pulled her from her statue like state and moved her into the corridor. "You have the right to tell him no," the medic stated in hushed tones.

Blinking in shock she tried to keep her optics on the dying mech even though there was a wall blocking her view. She could feel her soul twist and curl upon itself. "I can't tell him no," she whispered, and she couldn't. She had sat with her father when the cancer finally took his life, and never wanted to do anything like that again, but she had had a chance to say "Good-bye". When her people were extinguished she was half a continent away and the surreal emptiness of not being able to see anyone for one last time was far worse and hurt longer than holding someone's hand as they slipped away. Optimus spoke about the rights of all sentient beings, but he never mentioned the right to not have to die alone and scared.

After a moments thought, she looked into the cerulean optics. Her very nature was to fight and never yield, and it seemed as if the medic had already surrendered to defeat. She wouldn't give up, there was a mech in the other room that had asked her to watch his death and she didn't want to, so saving his life was the only option. "Can't you do something?" she demanded. Ratchet shook his head slowly. "Why the hell not?! There are three other protoforms in storage. You could perform transference on him like you did me and…" Her words were becoming more forceful and were cut off when the medic placed a hand on each shoulder.

Weariness and pain filled both his optics and voice. "I can't. His spark is too weak and would never hold together under the stain. Had I been able to repair him sooner then he would have had a better chance. Now all I can do is keep his tactile receptors dulled enough so he can't sense much. That is it. He is dying and won't last more than a couple of Earth days, if that."

Standing in the hollow corridor of a dead spaceship the femme ground her jaw plates together and finally kicked the wall nearest to her. "Why aren't his friends here to sit with him?" she said with no small amount of petulance.

"He doesn't have any friends," came the sad reply. She opened her mouth when the medic swiftly stopped her comment before it even began. "Velocity, Drift is a neutral a complete pacifist. He has refused to take sides in the war, and most of the Autobots here have little use for someone who won't pick up a blaster and at least defend themselves."

Cold shock wiped the heat of her anger and frustration away. She couldn't believe what he medic had just told her. These were Autobots, they were kind and noble and wouldn't turn their backs on anybody…would they? But they were also warriors that had waged a long and brutal war, sacrificing everything to keep the Decepticons at bay. But Drift was one of their own, regardless of his beliefs. The mech was one of Prime's people and… by… proxy also one of hers. Sagging against the wall for support Velocity was almost overcome by the weight of responsibility as she realized what her union with Optimus meant, and what it made her. Cycling her vents deeply and gathering her determination around her like a cloak, she meet the CMO optic to optic. "Fine. What are your death rights?"

The question must have stunned Ratchet, because he took a long time answering her question. "We do not have termination ceremonies. We have never needed them."

Rubbing her temple, she knew she didn't want to do this, and her conscious wouldn't let her walk away. Drawing herself up to her full height she pasted a false smile on her face and walked back to the side of the dying mech. Drift smiled a weak smile at her approach and gurgled some more fluids upon his destroyed chest. She wanted to scream and curse the heavens for forcing her endure this; without pause Velocity took his only hand in hers and began stroking the back of it. "What is…Earth like?" asked Drift.

Making herself comfortable on the edge of the slab he was laid upon, she started telling the alien about her home world. She explained the seasons to him and how all of the living things danced to their harmony. She told him of the trees and plants would flower and bud during the comfortable spring months and how the animals would bear their young, producing an explosion of life, rejuvenating the world. She explained the summer with its long days and oppressive heat and how it would give way to autumn; when the world would appear as if it was on fire as life prepared for the long, cold cruel darkness that was winter. She told of snow and how it would wrap everything in a shimmering crystalline cocoon, protecting the sleeping seeds and awaiting plants that sheltered deep within the dirt.

Someone sat a cube of energon near by and she ignored it.

She described the oceans and their seemingly endless, watery depths filled with leviathans that would dwarf the Prime, and of the mournful songs they sang. There were the savannas where powerful predators hid amongst the tall grasses and pitted tooth and claw against hoof and horn; the mountains that were created when the planet's crust had been thrust high into the clouds by violent tectonics and sure footed creatures scaled their insurmountable cliffs with ease. She informed him of the deserts, the expanses of sand and stone, where very little rain fell and life was harsh and demanding. She described the birds with their soft plumage and how they would decorate the sky, and the fish with their shimmering scales, jewels of color that swam in the waters. She talked of bugs and serpents, the graceful, antlered deer and the noble, powerful horses. She went on about the ferocious, loyal wolves and their comical cousins the dogs, the reclusive and cunning felines, gargantuan elephants and tiny mice. She spoke of the humans and how they diverse and indomitable they were. She described their towering cities and primitive huts.

She didn't know how long she talked to the mech next to her. She was vaguely aware of Optimus coming in and laying a hand on her shoulder and then leaving. Drift had stopped asking questions and seemed to concentrate on just listening. She was telling him about thunderstorms and the awe inspiring furry they unleashed, when his hand went limp. She didn't pause, and continued prattling on about the way lighting would slice through the sky and remind every breathing creature that underneath the roads and concrete this was still an untamed planet. Blue optics faded out and she called softly to Ratchet. The CMO never left his position at the work station he just nodded silently.

She had nothing to say; no waxing words of poetry to send the mech's spark on its way to the afterlife, so she just sat there holding his hand and staring at his face. "Till all are one," the medic whispered, and lifted her off the table. She had stayed in one place for so long the lubricants in her body had settled making her gears stiff. "Are you alright?" Ratchet asked with concern.

She wasn't. "I'm fine. I just need some time alone." Giving the day-glo green mech a weak smile she slowly walked out of the Ark and realized day break was encroaching upon her world; she had been with Drift all night. Whispering a small prayer to any deity that existed she asked that none of the other mech be around; she couldn't handle their attention right now. Looking to the distance she turned to find solitude in the seclusion of the desert.

_**XxxX**_

Stomping through the trunk like legs of the Cybertronians, Catherine focused on the sound of Simmons' obnoxious voice to guide her way. With Jim trotting behind her she rounded the intricate foot of Optimus Prime and yelled at the special agent. "Hey, asshole. What gives you the right to take what is ours?" In an instant, she found herself scooped up in an enormous hand and lifted at least thirty feet into the air. Pure azure points of light regarded her with curiosity and she suddenly felt like an insect in a collector's grasp.

"Explain." The deep rumble of the massive mech's voice reverberated in her chest. She found herself wondering if she shouldn't have been so… aggressive.

Finding her voice, she stated the facts. "Special Agent Simmons has confiscated all of our equipment and we want it back."

The massive head of the Prime turned to glare at the beak nosed man. Simmons appeared unruffled and unapologetic. "I seized the footage of the landing until we determine the exact nature of the intruder and the threat he posses to the United States. No one wants that disaster to air on the six o'clock news tonight."

Optimus gentle lowered his hand to the balcony where Simmons and a handful of suited men were standing. Catherine hopped off, and straightened her outfit. It was the same one she had worn on the day she arrived and was really hoping it didn't look too wrinkled.

"The 'intruder' is referred to as Cosmos. He and the Wreckers have been missing for over three vorn…" It was a black and white Autobot that spoke. As he stepped forward she could see the word "POLICE" along his wing like door panels.

"What's a vorn?" she asked.

One of the suited, anonymous, government gorillas leaned to her and whispered, "As far as we can tell, just shy of a century." This startled her and she looked at the towering Autobots a little differently.

"I don't care how long he has been missing? He destroyed the Groom Lake facility!" snapped Simmons.

Again it was the smaller mech that responded. "He could have information that would be of vital importance to us. Along with damage that was assumed to be caused during his captivity on Earth he also displays a wide range of injuries that could be consistent with an encounter with a particular Decepticon. We need to know if there is a chance that Sharkticon is on the planet."

Simmons sighed and rubbed his face. "According to the records, when the Roswell craft was recovered there was evidence of another…" He waved his hand in the air like he was at a loss for words. "…all the air force ever retrieved were a few bits of armor."

Catherine squeaked. "The Roswell craft? You mean there really was an alien spaceship at Area 51?" Looking around at all those present she realized how stupid she sounded.

Optimus Prime sighed and looked at her. "The alien craft was one of my mech. He crashed to Earth in his alternate form and went into a state referred to as stasis lock, and remained that way until the Ark activated my personal distress beacon."

"But didn't the Roswell UFO crash sometime in the nineteen forties?" she asked, and wished she had paid more attention to the conspiracy theorists.

"We can remain in stasis lock for millions of your years. It is a safety feature that keeps us alive if we are severely injured or our fuel supplies are depleted," Prime commented.

"But," interjected Simmons. "That still doesn't solve the problem of what you are going to do about one of yours that has killed over a dozen people."

The massive Autobot commander leaned over the railing and narrowed his optics at Simmons. "I am not going to do anything about Cosmos. His chassis bears evidence that he has been tortured. When he regains consciousness I will personally question him. If I fell he has done wrong I will deal with his termination myself, but if he was acting in self defense then the only ones to blame are those that tried to cut him apart." With that said the towering mech turned and strolled out of the room with the other Autobots following.

As Catherine watched, Agent Simmons threw his hands in the air and started rambling to himself about self-righteous, pig headed, space robots. Then the man turned his attention to her and an evil sneer pulled at his lips, exposing his white teeth. "Alright Missy, you want to act all brave and tough. How about this, your day pass has just been revoked."

_**XxxX.**_

Sitting with her back to the sun, Velocity wished she could feel… something. Sitting with Drift for more than a day had let her emotional reserves depleted. She didn't feel sorrow or pity at the mech's passing; she didn't know him, but she wasn't blasé about the event either. It was just that she was numb. It had taken every ounce of strength and courage to chatter on about nothing and seem happy to do so while she watched the mech slowly fade from existence. At times her chest actually hurt and she wanted scream in frustration, but she didn't. She just ignored the pain within her soul and carried on. Now she was wrung dry.

While sitting with Drift she could feel her bond to Optimus open and the mech try to give her some support. She didn't want it and would push him away. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his offer, she did, she just didn't want him to interfere. Staying with the dying mech had been her choice, not his, and she would handle it alone. Currently, that was all that she wanted…to be alone.

Watching the activities of the base below her, she couldn't help but notice the vehicles that moved in and around the area, most were military, and that made the flashier exotic cars stick out even more. A metallic blue Mosler could be seen leaving base alone and a red on blue Bughattti Veyron was following a patrol into the dusty Nevada desert. It wasn't hard to figure out which automobiles were Cybertronians.

Her thoughts wandered in a helter-skelter fashion and she realized that she missed the swallows that flittered and chattered around the derelict buildings. When the Decepticons had attacked, and destroyed the old hanger they had killed a lot of the colorful little birds too; the survivors left for safer nesting sites. Gone were the patches of wild grasses and bushes that randomly dotted the grounds and grew through the cracks in the asphalt of the runway. Clean new buildings, had sprung up from the smoldering remains like mushrooms after the rain. New concrete had been poured and sealed the desert dirt under an amalgamation of pebbles, lye and gypsum. She hadn't given it much thought, but she realized she missed the crumbling buildings, with their creature inhabitants. She longed for the silence that was only occasionally broken by an animal's call, not the constant clamor of human voices and marching feet.

She could see the parallel lines of soldiers out for a run, their steps in perfect rhythm to the cadence they were chanting. Sighing, she thought about her father's teachings and how he pounded into her the old adage that nothing lasts forever. He also taught her that death is the natural progression of life and that there would be things she would have to just accept. The first two lessons weren't' so bad, but she had never been very good at determining what should be accepted and what she should fight against.

The sun had started its descent when she noticed Optimus heading towards her general vicinity. A small smile appeared on her face, she had been wondering when he was going to show up. The Autobot commander moved beside her and lowered his considerable mass to a seated position. Slowly crossing his legs he looked her in the optics and cocked his head to the side.

"You are aware that you don't have to comfort the dying?" The questions were spoken with as much neutrality as possible.

"No one else was going to stay with him, so I kinda' got the job by default."

"Why?" Optimus was looking off to the distance. "Why did you put yourself through such misery to fulfill his wish? You didn't have any responsibility or debt to him?" The questions made her look at her mate with an expression like she had never seen him before.

"That wasn't about obligations. That was about holding someone's hand so he wouldn't be scared and alone. I couldn't change a damn thing, but I could endure it with him. I want to know where his leader was. Why couldn't his Prime be there for him?" She knew her words had a biting edge and that she was intentionally goading her mate into a fight, but anger was better that the hollowness she had been feeling.

Optimus shifted slightly and brushed his energy field against hers. Velocity could feel the cool comfort coming off of the mech. "I could not be with him. He had denounced my leadership as his Prime long ago. To honor him in his death would have been an insult to the mechs that have fought, and continue to fight, beside me. In truth I would have preferred to have been there when he joined the Matrix. I despise loosing any sparks, no matter what the allegiance."

Velocity could feel the sadness and regret he was experiencing and that along with his words tempered her anger. She didn't have the energy to fight over nothing and let her frustration go. Sitting calmly with Optimus acted like a balm, it relieved some of her pain and she started to feel like her normal self. She shifted to move closer to her mate. The promise of his arms encircling her and pulling her to his chest was just too inviting. What she wanted would be a dance of life, a statement that they were still fully functioning, and a way to exorcise the pallor of death from her soul. She wanted to be held and allowed to relax without fear of reproach, to give and to take from her mate, but it was not to be. A silvery hand against her shoulder stayed her movement. "Not here. We are too exposed," he stated. The expression on his face told her he wanted to hold her as much as she wanted him. The pull of need along their bond was strong and she cursed a long string of explicatives at decorum. Prime's deep chuckles stroked the air between them. "If you feel that strongly, perhaps I should clear my schedule and…"

The massive head snapped up and Optimus stared off into the distance beyond the base. His metal frame instantly went taught, and his battle mask clicked into place. "Get inside. Now."

Velocity stalled, torn between abandoning her mate and following his orders, but she knew that tone. Transforming into a little red roadster, she quickly sped towards the base and the safety of the underground. On her short drive home, she passed a black and white Dodge Charger police cruiser and a moss green Jeep Patriot. The Prime was calling his warriors to him.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N ~ **First, to all that have faved and alerted this story, thank you.

To **Okami-chan **- Hehe. Glad you enjoyed. I had fun writing the "knight in shinning armor" scene. Autobots are so chivalrous. Ben handles most of the Prowl writing. He has a better grasp of the tactician's character than I do. The similarities come from the rampant Prowl IS Barricade discussions on the net. Velocity is, and will always be, Sira. It colors the way she looks at the world and the mechs. To **Vawitch** - Yea. You like the brother angle, I'm relieved. There are so many more relationships out there than just mates, and this really isn't a romance. To **Latinad'Corazon** - Gracias. Estoy alegre usted tengo gusta de lo cuento. Lo siento, pero mi espanol es muy malo. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - War is brutal, ugly and horrible. Even if it is sometimes necessary. To **Lady Taurucis **- Ssssss. Nope, no resurrections. Sorry. To **Novamyth** - Yes, there will be some aft kicking. Tensions will be running high and Simmons will get his attitude adjusted, just not in the way anyone will expect, and the reporter will stir up more s*** than a turd cyclone.

I have been checking the mech roster and I need three more to fill it out. Who would you like to see? Ben and I have been making a list and checking it twice, but I want to hear the reader's opinions also. Send in name and alt form.


	18. Lost And Found

**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death._

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**, the man, the myth, the legend. Without his support and abilities, this wouldn't have been posted… ever. Seriously, I almost had to go on hiatus.

Beta-read by **Okami-myrrhibis**, and her keen eye for mistakes. If anybody knows her in the RL give her a hug for putting up with me.

_**XxxX**_

_**Lost and Found**_

_**XxxX**_

Hound could not suppress the joy he felt as he raced across the alien terrain, his shock absorbers hammering violently as he hurried towards his leader; he'd been cooped up for far too long in the Ark, staring at the claustrophobic walls of the flagship and the facet-less stars beyond it. Some of the Autobots were comfortably at home in the furnished interior of civilization and its wonders, but not him, he needed to run, to feel the wind brush along his chassis and the terra firma push unyieldingly against his feet. That was why he'd volunteered to search for the then missing Prime with Prowl and Wheeljack; it was a chance to be free of the confines of Cybertron, to run and to hunt and to explore, to go wherever his commander called. Like the canines the humans had tamed and kept by their sides, he loved nothing better than to wander far afield letting whimsy be his guide, and soak up the scenic wonders in silent solitude. But now, the Prime's loyal hound been called on again, and the tracker was all too eager to pander after his leader.

He had already passed the femme in her alternate form; calculating her speed and direction of travel, he quickly surmised that she had been where he was headed. Hound chuckled to himself, _What had those two been doing all alone out in the desert?_ Not that anyone would begrudge the Autobot leader for wanting to spend time with such a delight, but that meant that the others would have to wait for their chances, if they even had any. _Oh, Cliffjumper is going to be crushed. _

Sliding to a halt, he was enveloped by a cloud of dust his tires had stirred up from the hard pan of the desert floor, and as the gritty cloud was swept away by the winter wind, he finished transforming and bowed to the Supreme Commander. A narrowing of the great Autobot's optic shutters told the tracker that Optimus still felt uncomfortable with the subservient displays of those beneath his station, something that Hound did not miss; quickly straightening, the drab green mech smiled nostalgically at his humble leader. _Primus, how he'd missed the big 'Bot._

"Yes, Sir?" he said, imitating the long drawn out vowels from a different region. While on the Ark, he had spend many hours mesmerized by the little planet that Prime had been calling "home". This world was so... alive and varied. Every few hundred miles, the terrain changed, often in dramatic ways. Everywhere he turned, it was rich in organic life; some so minute he couldn't see it, and other forms so large that even the biggest of mechs would look inferior standing beside the fleshy creatures. The humans also came in varied shapes, sizes, and colors; unlike a couple of the other races he had encountered, where they were so androgynous and homogenous that it was almost impossible to tell individuals apart. That was one thing that could never be said about humans; individuals were easy to identify just by the structure of their facial bones, let alone the tone of their audio projections, the way they moved their bodies, preferences of garments, and varied levels of intellectual capacity. But unlike the Cybertronians, they had strikingly different cultures and beliefs. Even within the vast country that had welcomed them, the people had different ways of speaking the same language. He had especially liked the lazy, unhurried manner in which the humans in the South-east spoke; they sounded like they had all orn to say something, and nothing was important enough to make them say it any faster.

A second cloud of dirt surrounded them as Prowl arrived and skidded to a barely controlled halt. Hound mused to himself that it was going to take the tactician some time to get used to traveling on any surface other than a Cybertronian road; the gravel of the desert offered little traction and made stopping quickly an adventure in itself. Prowl lacked the modifications required for his alt form to have a high ground-to-chassis clearance, heavier, wider tires, and powerful shock absorbers; all needed for extensive off-road travel. Perhaps he should offer the Second-In-Command a few pointers.

The patrol car quickly stood and addressed the Autobot leader. "Sir?"

Hound felt the weight of the Supreme Commander's gaze on him and readied himself. He knew that heavy look, he had seen it a hundred times on Cybertron and now he was seeing it here; he was being called into service. "I have detected an energy signal south of our present location. It was very faint, therefore I am unsure the true nature of the source, but I fear we are being observed by a microbot," the Prime's words were spoken without emotion. All present knew the implications.

Few Autobots had symbiotic microbots. It wasn't that there was anything ethically wrong with the partnerships; it was simply that it was a rarely-sparked occurrence and most of those occurrences joined the Decepticon cause. Hound could only think of one Autobot with symbiots, and as far as he knew, Blaster and his rowdy hoard were still on Cybertron. That meant that the slagging 'Cons were up to their usual tricks. "Shall I go and see what I can flush out?" he asked, itching for a chance to help one more Decepticon join with the Matrix.

Dark azure optics searched him; he hoped they found him deserving. Optimus nodded his head. "I want you to locate and identify. Under no circumstances are you to engage the enemy; _I _will make that decision if the opportunity arrives. We are under constant surveillance by representatives of the United States government and now by the media and general public. I have enough issues to deal with without images of one of my mechs slagging a little microbot in the news."

Hound smiled genuinely. "Awww, you know you I wouldn't do anything to tarnish your good name."

Prime made an odd snorting sound and shook his head. The tracker immediately liked the very human mannerism; time among the Earthlings had begun to permeate his commander's actions, and he found the breech of rigid Cybertronian etiquette refreshing. A wave of dismissal told Hound he was being sent on his mission, and as he transformed he heard the Commander comment to Prowl about how nice a drive would be today.

Bounding over the barren terrain, he made a quick long-range scan and found Prime and the SIC. They were traveling on a road parallel to him and making quick work of it. Hound chuckled to himself, he knew the game plan, they had done this a few times before. His job was to find the enemy and herd him towards the other two. It was a simple locate, flush and capture. Tuning his attention to finding the microbot, Hound began making sensor sweeps every few seconds. He would like to have done so more frequently, but he had to filter out all of the electro-chemical signals form the native life forms. With each sweep, he picked up hundreds of heartbeats, some tiny and delicate. while others were larger and stronger. It was fascinating, but ultimately useless information. The way the wind whipped along his armor, or the way the sunshine sparkled on some rocks but not others was also fascinating and distracting. He would happily spend the rest of his days on this amazing mud ball of a planet just to be able to see every square . . .

. . . And there it was, a residual energy signature; he stopped and went to his root mode. Bending so he was on hands and knees, Hound searched for the slightest trace to identify the mech that had been here. Nothing. Standing, and with agonizing slowness, he started walking in a circle, testing and sampling, his cybernetic mind locating and pinpointing areas where the signal was strongest and overlaying it in an internal map. Ever so slowly the tracker was making out the path the 'Con took. It was tedious work; the energy print was weak and fading, but he had little doubt it had come from a microbot. The tiny mechs gave off only minute amounts of energy and they were light enough that one could walk along the hard, packed earth and leave little evidence. Not something a larger mechanoid could do.

He followed the fading signal for a couple of miles, stopping whenever he lost it and walking back and forth until he located it again. It was grueling work, and he could only keep this up for a couple of cycles until he would have to rest. The energy expenditure he had to endure to keep his ultra-fine sensors operating at peak capacity was astounding. Fortunately, the Prime would make sure that he would have an orn or so to recuperate, and he could explore as he pleased during his time off the duty roster. Checking in with the other members of this little hunting party, they both encouraged him to continue. There was a lot of ground between him and them. More than enough for a microbot to slip through unnoticed, but they assured him that they were doing all they could to close the trap on their end. If nothing else, their presence would scare off the 'Con and make it less likely that he would come back. It was a win-win situation to the tracker.

Hound had covered several more miles when his proximity alarm sounded and flooded his heads up display with a stream of data. Taking a second to deactivate the visual onslaught, he glanced around to find the source; a brown plume rose from the ground in the distance and marked the location of the newcomer, who was streaking across the barren soil on an intercept course. The scout sighed, like he had heard the humans do; he really didn't want company right now.

Refocusing his attention, he went back to work. Maybe he could make some headway before the other Autobot arrived. Stepping onto a rise in the geography, he started scanning the small valley below him, and mentally marked where he thought he could sense the energy footprint.

A low, sleek and decidedly blue, vehicle pulled along beside him. Hound barely glanced over, but he thought that Mirage looked comically out of place with his tires resting on the soil. The Jeep Patriot wondered what was so important that the spy would risk getting dusty for. The Mosler transformed into his thin bipedal form. With his arms crossed over his chest, the spy walked right into the area Hound had been scanning. The Autobot's stronger energy field obliterated the much fainter one. Hound closed his optic shutters and counted to three, in every language he knew. Opening them back up he stepped around the other mech and attempted to relocate the mysterious microbot's signal.

"What are you doing?" Mirage asked him in the haughty tone of High Cybertronian. That was enough to get under Hound's armor; even the Prime barely used the aristocratic dialect; Optimus had almost always preferred the common dialect when he spoke. The pinnicle of Cybertronian society had even addressed the Senate and Council of Ancients in the manner of the average laborbot, showing that class and caste were simply unimportant. Pretentious snobbery was the only reason for the spy to address him in such a manner, and that annoyed him.

"I am attempting to trail a Decepticon microbot, so if you don't mind, stay out of my way," he said in English, utilizing the pronounced drawl he favored. Hound normally wasn't terse with any of the other mechs, but right now he had a job to do and Mirage had been fraying his wires for some time. Ever since they picked up the spy along with the group of refugees, the spoiled mech had been complaining about the fact that they were not heading back to Cybertron. He and Prowl had given up trying to explain things and shut off their audios whenever the skinny Autobot entered the room.

Picking up the weak signal again, Hound hurried out of the valley and away from the snooty aristocrat. Standing on another rise he looked around at the landscape; this valley was larger and deeper. A dry riverbed snaked its way through the area, as it cut deeply in to the ground, producing numerous areas for a microbot to take refuge in. He only went a couple of steps when he picked up a stronger signal; it was much newer and closer by.

Maybe he would get to enjoy the fun of chasing the little 'Con into the Prime's open arms. Locking onto the trail Hound started to follow it, only to be blocked by Mirage. "I do not appreciate the tone you have used to address me," the arrogant mech said.

"Primus, did you drive all of the way out here to pick a fight with me?" Hound asked while attempting to carry on with his assignment. He was starting to find this irritating.

"I was on patrol and thought I would stop and see if you needed some assistance, instead you have been nothing but terse towards me." The tracker didn't argue, but he could have sworn that Smokescreen was supposed to have been on patrol. It wasn't like none of the 'Bots had ever traded shifts before, so Hound dismissed his thoughts and shoved the spy out of his way. As he moved, a flash of light near the riverbed caught his optics. He left the indignant mech behind and ran towards the object.

What he found was not what he had hoped for, but it was… unusual nonetheless. Kneeling by the abandoned device he carefully moved the wreckage around to search for any signs that might tell him why such a valued item had been destroyed and abandoned. As he carefully turned the item over, he noticed four long grooves in the bottom of the laptop. Searching the area, he found many more similar markings. Opening a comm. channel, he hailed his leader.

::Hound to Optimus Prime. I have found a human's computer and it has distinct impressions on it. I… I think you should see for yourself. Hound out.::

A shadow fell over Hound as Mirage sauntered towards him. "What is so interesting about human garbage?" Hound didn't answer him; he was waiting for the others to arrive. What he found was not good, not good at all.

Hound watched as the spy had started pacing in erratic patterns, not that that was any of his concern. He didn't know enough about Mirage to discern if the mech was nervous, or just bored. All he did know was that any possible evidence or energy signature was being wiped out but the restless Autobot.

"Mirage, you're tearing up the ground, would you stay still or sit." The other mech just ignored his comment and kept pacing; perhaps he had also realized the implications of the find and was anxious.

After what felt like forever, but in reality was only a couple of breems, the Prime and his SIC appeared over a hill, and the two mechanoids hurried towards him. From the corner of his optic, Hound saw Mirage give a grand, sweeping bow to his leader. The Prime barely acknowledged the display; his focus was on more pressing issues. Hound mused to himself, _save it Mirage, I think the Big 'Bot might have his optics locked onto something smaller and redder. _Picking up the laptop that said 'Dell' on the top, he wordlessly showed the damage to Prime. The massive Commander's head nodded in understanding.

"Agent Simmons made a remark that his computer was missing. I think you have just found it." Hound watched as Optimus pinched the bridge of his nose plates with his finger and thumb. "What are the chances that a different Cybertronian has made those marks?"

Hound thought it over. "Highly unlikely, sir. There is one other mech with similar claw patterns, but I doubt Blaster would let Steeljaw get this far away from him." It was bad enough that Ravage was on Earth; what made the situation worse was that his master would not be far away.

"Hound, can you follow the trail back to the Decepticons?" It had been Prowl that asked, and from the tone he used he already knew the answer.

The tracker shook his head. "Negative. I might have been able to had… had I not called you here, but our combined energy fields have completely covered Ravage's." He wanted to say "_if Mirage had not been pacing all over the area like an expectant progenitor I might have had a chance_", but it was a moot point now. The trail was gone, and he had had enough trouble following it this far. Vocalizing his annoyance would only waste time and make him appear petty.

"Very well, let's head home… Autobots roll out." The Prime transformed and lead the way back to base. Prowl took his place right behind the leader, followed by Hound and then Mirage. As the foursome disappeared over the top of a hill, two red pinpoints of light glowed in the shadows behind a boulder. Waiting several long minutes to make sure the area was clear, the bestial mechanoid finally slinked out of his hiding place. Cold, matte black metal looked out of place in the brilliantly lit desert as the four-legged Decepticon trotted towards a metal container that had been dropped behind a rock. Sniffing the gift, he could detect the scent of fuel within. Carefully securing the small ration of energon in his mouth, the microbot turned and started his long journey to his master. He had not been called back yet, but his objective had been completed and his presence discovered. His master would welcome his return, especially with such a nice prize from an old friend.

_**XxxX.**_

Catherine stabbed at the crouton on her plate and succeeded in disintegrating it into a bazillion little pieces that flew all over the table. "I can't believe it; the asshole took all of your equipment and then threw us off the base. And to top it all off, the Autobots didn't seem concerned."

Jim looked at her from over his bowl of truck stop chili and shrugged. "I don't remember any of the aliens being present when we were…. escorted off the base. Cat, has it ever occurred to you that there is a whole lot of something going on out there and it's a good chance that no one really knows exactly what?" The reporter looked at her middle-aged camera operator. Jim, with his sleepy eyes, spreading middle and down to earth mannerisms didn't look all that bright, but he was, and he had a keen sense for trouble. When she had first been partnered with him, she had dug into his military background; it was all classified. Scary classified, and made the hair on the back of her neck prickle in warning; Jim probably had skills she could only hazard a guess at and others she didn't want to know about at all. The few times she had tried to talk to him about his time in the Navy, the man remained doggedly silent.

"Yeah, I kinda got that feeling when I was there. Everyone kept tiptoeing over their words like there was some big secret and they were afraid that they would let it slip. And Optimus Prime looked like he was going to have a rigger fit when he was talking about the one that attacked him during the landing."

"Cosmos." Jim corrected her as he took a bite of steaming chili and mooshed it around his mouth as if he was sampling a fine wine.

"Fine, Cosmos. When they were talking about Cosmos he mentioned that the mech looked like he had been tortured." She took a bite of her salad and glanced at Jim. He was giving her a knowing smile. Catherine sat upright when she realized why her camera operator was looking at her like that. "Oh, my God! The government was torturing one of the aliens!" Fortunately, the dumpy little restaurant was almost empty, so the only person that heard her was the waitress. Her hands started shaking as she quickly weighed and dismissed the different angles in which to present the story. This was going to be big… bigger than big; this was HUGE. She felt her lips curl into a cold smile and could see Jim had a similar expression.

"Cat, some of the assholes in Washington believe that the end always justifies the means, and it doesn't matter who gets hurt. I have a good friend I served with that has been in and out of psychiatric hospitals trying to come to grips with the shit he had to do in the service of his country. The government won't honor the sacrifices he made because it is all top secret, and some believe that protecting the secrets is more important that protecting the people. Simmons is one such person. Men like him don't care, and need to be taught a lesson."

Catherine was stunned, that was the most she had ever heard Jim say at one time, or about anything more pressing than the lighting so she looked good. She could feel his need for retribution, as readily as she could feel that Pulitzer in her hand. "Do you still have that tiny little camera we used for that piece on auto repair shop scandals?"

The cameraman just nodded. "It's at home. I didn't see any reason to bring it."

"Good. How hard do you think it would be to sneak onto an alien base guarded by the US Military?"

_**XxxX**_

"No," the word was gently stated, but it carried the weight and determination of nine million years behind it. The Secretary of Defense was flustered; Optimus could hear it over the connection. He considered John Keller a friend, but even friends disagree from time to time.

"Optimus, please be reasonable. Congress and the Senate both are wanting answers and with the amount of destruction and death your man… mech caused, don't you think you need to…"

"…Right now I need to help the new arrivals settle into life on your planet. I _need_ to contend with a possible Decepticon attempt to infiltrate the base. I _need_ to convince Simmons he has to return the confiscated equipment back to Miss Cutter. I _need_ to help my team strip the Ark of any weaponry, before the enemy decides that they want it. I have exactly thirty-seven different matters that _need_ my attention; what I do not _need_ to do is to take time away from here to explain to your government that they had one of my mech hostage and were in the process of torturing him when he came online and broke free." Optimus was well aware that his voice had dropped to a threatening growl, and he felt a stab of guilt that someone he actually liked was receiving his ire.

The silence over the communications line was thick. As Optimus waited for the man to respond, he refocused his attention and pulled back the irritation he felt and channeled it into a more productive emotion, determination. He was determined that the United States Government was not going to get their hands on Cosmos. At least not at this moment.

"Optimus, I am sorry. Had I know about the situation at Groom Lake I would have notified you and then done everything in my power to stop it," Keller's words were soaked with sincerity and Prime knew the man was appalled at what happened.

"I know." The Autobot Commander stated as he wearily rubbed his face. He attempted to pull his legendary patience around him like a protective cloak, but it was hard. Few things brought out his vengeful wrath faster than the hideous practice of torture. War had taught him to kill and kill cleanly, but the need to prolong an individual's suffering was something he could not understand. "Your government had... Megatron incapacitated for a century while he was slowly taken apart and analyzed; though I disagree with those practices, I can see that it lead to the greater good for both of our species. When we arrived, Agent Simmons captured Bumblebee and began experimenting on him. I was spark sick to think I would lose one that I think of as my own progeny, but I could not discern a way around the situation without humans being killed. We formed an alliance with your government and were assured that there would be no further such aggressions against Cybertronians, and then I learn that one of my kind was being held and cut apart. Your people say that they had no idea he was a Cybertronian, but humans are known to lie for self-serving reasons. Right now I cannot dispute what your government claims, because Cosmos has yet to come online. Until he does and I have a chance to question him, I will not be addressing the issue. The United States professes to believe in the concept of innocent until proven guilty; perhaps it is time to practice that."

"And what will happen once you talk with Cosmos?" Keller asked

Prime paused while he gathered his words. "If I feel that Cosmos acted maliciously, then I will terminate him myself, but if it comes to light that he was intentionally being tortured, then your people will have to answer for their behavior." The thought of terminating one of his own did not sit well with his conscious, but he had done so in the past and he knew he would have to do it again in the future. There was one among them now that madness would eventually consume and would have to be neutralized, but that day had yet to come.

"And what if the scientists are telling the truth and had no clue to his true origin and the mech was acting in self defense?"

"Then the government will just have to accept that it was an accident, and no one shall be held accountable." In Optimus's estimation, that was probably the most likely scenario and the one that would lead to the fewest difficulties for a continued alliance, but until he could speak to the mech involved, he had to keep all possibilities on the table and protect his people.

"You will eventually have to address Congress, but I think I can buy you some time to get your ducks in a row. I can't say how long, but I'll make sure you have the opportunity."

The Prime was aware that the Secretary would receive criticism from his peers for his actions and truly appreciated the man's willingness to help. "Thank you," he said with a heavy tone.

The pair lapsed into a long silence, broken several minutes later by a soft murmur on the secretary's end. He chuckled softly, "Optimus, I think we should call it a night. I think I owe my wife some quality time, to make up for all the running around I've been doing."

Prime chuckled; he too felt like reassessing a few of the topics that he and his mate had been interrupted during. "I completely understand; give my best to your bonded… I mean, your wife."

"I will," Keller's line went dead, and Prime disconnected himself from the feed.

He knew she was in their quarters, most likely watching TV or reading. He stroked their bond to gage Velocity's mood; what came roaring back at him almost made him run to their rooms. Heat, raw and unadulterated, tantalizing and glorious; the femme was in rare form tonight and he intended to take full advantage of it.

Stepping over the threshold into his sanctuary he quickly located her; the red vixen was sitting, curled in a chair, a small book deftly balanced in one hand. The carnal glow in her optics was so organic and animalistic, Optimus felt his pump sputter in anticipation, and he moved to close the distance between them. He was shocked when she stood and slinked out of his reach, and an evil smile turned her facial plates upwards. He growled and chased her down the hall. Hot on his mate's heels, he scooping her up and carried her to their recharging bunk. Their energies were like gasoline and fire, churning and burning into an ever-increasing inferno as they hurriedly gave in to their core desires. The intimate ritual of sharing had been thrown aside for the hedonistic sensations of interfacing; the erotic energy reaching a titanic climax…only to be interrupted by the regimental, military knock of Prowl announcing himself.

Prime broke off instantly, torn between answering the door and firing a volley of plasma at it, when Velocity grabbed him by the audio finial and dragged him back into their energetic mingling. "Ignore him," she whispered between pauses, "He'll think you're not in and go away."

The knock repeated itself, and Prime sighed in resignation; he withdrew the energy that had been setting the femme's tactile senses ablaze. In a moment of indignant retaliation, she gave him a violent push with a taloned foot that sent the off balance Commander careening over the bunk side and crashing to the floor with the deafening ring of metal against metal.

Prowl almost blasted the door off its hinges as he entered, clearing the more pubic parlor he made his way to the more private, back rooms of the Prime's quarters. Hurriedly, he checked one room and looked in the next. "Commander, I heard com… bat…." he blinked twice and slowly lowered his blaster, optics panning from the femme stretched casually on the recharge bunk and smiling vindictively, to his Prime, prostrate on the floor. "What…"

"Combat drills," Optimus said in a somewhat miffed tone, not getting up. The shove had been completely unforeseen, and he needed a few seconds to realign his servos, and salvage his pride. "I was testing Velocity's ability to defend herself in close combat, and she caught me off guard. She's quite the handful."

"I see." Prowl turned to face the femme, "As much as I can understand and respect combat drills, you really ought to work more on keeping yourself out of close combat situations. If you would like, I can show you some basic defense techniques to use against larger opponents, although I'd rather we not target Prime, being as we need to ensure he remains in top condition."

"I guess you're right," Velocity said in her best 'vapid blonde' tone, "I just didn't see any harm in it. I mean, he _is_ the Supreme Commander, and I am little and can't do much damage to such a big mech. I thought it was kinda fun though."

Prime winced inwardly; the femme was putting on a show for his SIC. Her voice was honeyed poison and buried deep within was scathing sarcasm; he had an irate femme on his hands. Prowl just stared blankly at the both of them; Optimus knew the tactician had missed the obvious. "Anyway, sir, I just came to inform you that we have a meeting scheduled with your senior staff regarding the current state of affairs on Cybertron."

"Good, very good." Prime slowly dragged himself off the floor, "Go ahead and round the others up… I'll be along shortly."

"Of course, sir." Passing another glance across Optimus and Velocity, the second-in-command quickly excused himself.

_**XxxX**_

Primus, she was mad; rancor scalded him over their bond. Looking to his left Optimus managed to get a covert glance at his mate; the fiery red femme was standing with her feet apart, arms crossed over her chest, optic shutters narrowed slightly and an expression of utter animosity. Even Ironhide was giving her sideways glances, probably to make sure she did not attack him. Optimus opened a comm. line to his weapons specialist, ::Consider yourself fortunate that you are not the cause of her ire.::

Sharp blue optics flicked to him as the black mech responded. ::Are you the cause of this?::

Optimus nodded subtly. The sound of digitized laughter filled his internal audios. ::Perhaps you should name your successor before your mate tears your pump out and shoves in your audio port.:: Prime glared at Ironhide, who had the good grace not to show that he was busting the Supreme Commander's bearings in a private conversation. _Dear Primus, what was taking Ratchet and Wheeljack so long? _

He had asked Prowl to gather his Inner circle in preparation of this debriefing, and the longer this took the less likely it would be that he could placate his mate. Optimus had noted the look of surprise that his SIC had given the femme when she walked in ahead of the Prime, but the tactician had enough common courtesy to cover his shock and curiosity with professional indifference. It was only a matter of time before Prowl asked for explanations and he would have to entrust Velocity's secrets to another. Prime knew that Prowl would never betray him or his mate, but if this particular transgression became public knowledge, the position of the Prime would be forever tarnished. He had broken some of the highest laws in Cybertron by giving the gift of near immortality to a lowly organic and he would most likely be executed for it. That didn't bother him. He knew the risks and was more than willing to destroy generations of mores and statutes to do what he felt, in his spark, was the right thing to do. His concern was for her. She would most likely be a pariah, an unclean freakish creature shunned by most. That was what made guarding her origins a top priority, only a handful knew what Velocity truly was and he hoped that that handful would do everything in their power to protect her. Turning to scrutinize the furious, scarlet femme, he hoped she would never have to know what sacrifices he would be willing to make for her. She met his optics and turned a delicate metal lip up in silent snarl.

"Would you two just stop it!" snapped Ironhide, who had obviously witnessed the exchange. "I'm about ready to shove you to in a room with fully charged blasters and lock the door!"

Optimus dropped his head in submission and he noticed his mate did the same, neither wanted to antagonize Ironhide when he was in the mood to chastise the Prime. He saw the red armor twitch and the femme's lip curl into an almost imperceptible smile; he fought his own feature as they threatened to mirror hers. Prime knew what she found so funny; it was him. The Prime of Cybertron, the Supreme Commander, the Bearer of the Matrix was being scolded like an impetuous sparkling by an ancient architect with enormous cannons and an attitude to match. She didn't have to tell him; their bond had allowed him a clear path to her thoughts. He was amazed and stunned; this had never happened between them before and he reveled in it. He and Elita had shared both thoughts and emotions, but not he and Velocity, their union was not of that nature. He opened his thoughts to her in return and apologized to her. He could feel her curiosity and timid fear at their new connection. With absolute candor, he supported her and told her it was nothing to be fearful of. His spark soared; it was something he hadn't felt in eons, a connection as pure as a newborn star and just as powerful.

The door to the conference room opened and Ratchet entered, closely followed by his pearlescent mate. With a stinging snap of a recoil, the connection was broken, and he was alone in his own mind. Pain lit his sensors on fire and then it was gone. Reeling from the loss, he stifled the urge to cry out in frustration he glanced at his mate. She was still leaning against the wall, but her optic shutters were tightly closed, fists curled, she had felt it too, and was trying to recover from it. ::Later:: was all he sent over their private comm. line and she nodded in response without looking up.

Glancing up, he could see Ironhide and Prowl were deep in discussion and Ratchet was addressing him. "… has been retooled and Wheeljack has been working on repairing one of the nacelle engines. Given a little time Cosmos should be fit for active duty."

Without missing a beat Optimus asked, "Has he come online yet? I need to discuss a few things with him." The Prime knew that had anyone been watching they would have never known the emotions he had just pivoted between. Dealing with his treacherous brother and the numerous Decepticon allies on the High Council had given him many skills he had never wanted.

The green medic cycled his vents. "Not yet. I think that he just needs some time to rest. Stasis lock can be hard to come out of, even under the best of circumstances. I can always try and coax him online if you would like."

Optimus shook his head. "No. Leave him be… for now."

Prowl approached and bowed formally to start the meeting. The Prime acknowledged him and the tactician said, "Commander, we have taken back Iacon."

The Inner Circle was stunned and so was he. He almost had his SIC repeat himself, just so he could be sure that he heard the words correctly. His Autobots had reclaimed Iacon! How? When? Optimus was elated. He could not help but smile at His Second in command and the look of modest pride that briefly flickered over Prowl's face was enough to let him know that the tactician had been wanting to tell him the news for a while. Iacon was the epitome of the Cybertronian Empire and represented all that they were. Tall, graceful towers chiseled an impressive the skyline and were set against the ragged, ore-rich landscape of the planet. A glowing ocean of molten metal reflected off the shiny spires of the city. The arts thrived there, as well as the sciences; it was the center of cultural society. A place ideas and dreams were freely discussed and sometimes came to fruition. It was also the home of the Prime and the prize of the Autobots. Though he had been sparked elsewhere, he had loved Iacon. When the city had fallen, it had been a blow to the Autobots' morale. They were literally chased from their homes by the Decepticons, and forced to seek shelter in any hole they could find. Iacon was theirs once again. Of his council around him, only one did not seem to be stupefied, and that was because she had little frame of reference about such an event.

"How?" was the only word he could form.

"The Decepticons were having issues maintaining a reliable energy source. Ultra Magnus had gathered a considerable force in the neutral zones around the city, on the off chance that he would have an opening to attack," Prowl stated. Optimus was impressed and concerned. Ultra Magnus did not count on chance, he only dealt with absolutes and for him to put all of their fighters in range of the enemies' weapons meant that he was either desperate, or had someone on the inside.

His SIC continued. "The 'Cons suffered a massive outage that left their defenses down and we were able to liberate the city." There was so much unsaid among those crisply stated facts. Acts of heroism and horror to claim what the Autobots felt was rightfully theirs. There had to have been intricate tactical plans and secondary plans. He wanted to start asking question upon question until he could follow the battle in his own processor, but he didn't. This was neither the time nor the place to indulge in such trivialities. What was done was done and they had to strategize for the future to stay ahead of their enemies.

"What is the state of the enemy forces?" he wanted to know. With Megatron gone and the fortress-like protection of Iacon no longer around them, the Decepticons had to be in disarray.

"When Starscream returned with news of the Lord High Protector's termination, they immediately split into several smaller factions. From what we can tell, Starscream is attempting to rally all of them behind him, while at the same time a couple of Megatron's generals are trying to do the same. They are still a threat, but we have been trying to use the lull in open fighting to reinforce our defenses. Outside of the city is still a hazardous place for anyone to be. Roaming bands of 'Cons attack and kill anyone they find. Also, life inside of the city is difficult. We are on constant alert for raiding parties and the energon supplies, while not critical, are not what we would like to see. Magnus closely monitors every astroliter of energon as a precaution; replacement parts are scarce, and so is the raw materials needed to make them."

Optimus thought about his people living in what was the human equivalent of a refugee camp in the middle of a major city. He did not like it, but they still had hope. As long as the Decepticons were without leadership and fighting amongst themselves, his Autobots could repair and rebuild their bailiwick. He knew that the calm wouldn't last for long; a victor would emerge from the enemy ranks and lead the Decepticons to war once more, but he was confident. Confident that Ultra Magnus was doing everything he could to ensure that the Autobots were prepared for the inevitable return to battle. Confident that this little planet he was standing on would assist in defeating the Decepticons and help end this abysmal war.

The human entrance to the conference room opened and Simmons stepped in drawing everyone's attention away from the incredible news. "What was so important that I had to cancel my flight and get back here?" the agent snapped with no small amount of anger in his voice as he ascended the stairs to the platform. Optimus shifted gears and saved his concerns about Cybertron to address the here and now.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but we have found something that might interest you." Motioning to a box sitting innocently on the long oak table, Optimus redirected the agent's attention.

Simmons walked over and looked in. His face darkened and his brows came together in an expression of intense rage. "Fuck!" he yelled. "Where did you find this?" he demanded, pointing an accusatory finger to the remains of his laptop.

"It was recovered over twelve of your miles from here. It bears damage similar to that of a particular Decepticon," Optimus said in heavy words. He was denied access to the government mainframe and had no way of knowing how much damage had truly been done.

The man turned his furious attention to him. "I want to know how the fuck they got it out of my car, while I was on the base?"

"Are you certain that the personal computer was in your vehicle, or did you leave it elsewhere?" Prowl asked with a rational calm. Optimus winced inwardly, his SIC was about to get a lesson in human behavior.

"Are you STUPID? Of course, I didn't misplace my computer! I had it in the car when I left my hotel, I didn't stop anywhere until I got here, and then it was gone! I want to know how the fuck a Decepticon got past your oh-so-fancy security grid and stole the goddamned thing out of my car in broad day light!!" Simmons' voice cracked at the end from the amount of yelling he was doing. Optimus was grateful that the rest of his mechs didn't want to make any comments to the irate human.

He chose his words and spoke softly, as the pulsing vein on the man's forehead had him a little concerned. "Our sensors are not infallible. Such as human security measures only allow so much protection against human intruders, Cybertronian security grids are only so effective against our own kind. The mech that we believe is responsible for absconding with your computer is one of the hardest to trace or catch. Ravage is especially skilled in infiltration and assassination techniques."

His words had the intended effect; Simmons stopped his tirade and was in heavy thought. Without warning, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it opened. Pushing a single button, he placed it to his ear and waited. "Tom, the neighbors found the computer.… Yes…. No…. No, they think that the _other_ neighbors had it…. What do you want to do?…. Yes, we do need to rearrange the garage." With a snap, he closed the phone and it disappeared within his jacket pocket once more. "If you'll excuse me I have damage control to do."

The pearly white form of Wheeljack stepped forward. "Agent Simmons?" Optimus watched as the man stopped and looked at the scientist suspiciously. "I would like to know if there was a breach in the firewalls around the government mainframe?"

"Why?"

"Well, I have laced the more sensitive areas of the Defense Department's information caches. Basically, if anything with a Cybertronian signature attempts a direct interface they will receive a nasty surprise," the engineer said with some pride. Optimus rubbed his face with his hand, apparently 'Jack had some free time and decided to help.

"Are you telling me you made it where none of your kind could hack our network?" Simmons asked in disbelief.

The white mech looked surprised by the question. "Well… yes. Wasn't that the agreement, that we never access your computers? I can't even access them, for the traps are self-evolving and freely move about. I thought that that would be the best way to ensure our honesty."

Simmons looked from him to the engineer and back to him. Optimus himself helped the United States shore up and secure their network against further infiltrations, but he had no clue about Wheeljack's involvement. Crossing his arms over his massive chest he acted like Simmons was the only one not in the know, and for his part, the agent appeared to be deep in thought. Using his phone once again, the man called his superior as he headed towards the stairs. "Yeah, it's me. Just talked to the neighbors. Seems that they fixed the fence a little better than we thought… And the doors, and the windows. They also told me that they changed the locks and don't have a key either…." Simmons left while still talking to Banachek.

"Yeaaaa, we're the _nice_ neighbors." Velocity said with sarcasm. "I like the super-secret-agent-man-code-speak. That is classic." Raising her arms over her head and arching her back, she stretched luxuriously. "I'm going to recharge and if anyone tries to stop me I will shoot them."

Optimus watched her sashay out of the room and hoped he could join her before she drifted off. Some things were worth the risk of being shot at.

Prowl looked at his ever present data pad. "I would like to continue this, but there in an incoming shipment I would like to oversee and have to leave in half a breem".

Optimus sighed in relief. "I suggest we all get back to work. Prowl at a later time I would like to talk with you in private and get a more detailed report about home, but for now this should do. Everybody dismissed."

He felt a strong hand grab his shoulder. "Care to split a cube of high grade?" Ironhide asked.

Optimus didn't look back and headed towards his quarters. "No," he stated in a tone that few argued with. The answering laugh told him he didn't need to explain.

All of the Autobots had filed out of the room except for him and Ratchet. "I have that item you requested," the medic stated. Prowl checked his schedule and found an opening late the next day.

_**XxxX**_

As the sun disappeared over the sparse parcel of land the Autobots called home, Prowl checked his proximity sensors for the fifteenth time as he stared down at the newly installed patch of Cybertronian alloy on his right arm. He activated it with a single thought that traveled through thousands of microscopic relays, triggering the well-worn tension spring concealed in his forearm; the Ambiance Blade snapped out with a whisper quiet click, the thirty-three inch instrument flickered dully in the dying, amber light. One twentieth of a second, he'd drawn and redrawn the blade a hundred times since the sun had first started its plunge below the horizon, and each time the blade's emergence was flawlessly smooth. The edge was razor sharp; keen enough to score hardened steel like hot butter, and so fast that the target would only have time to blink before the tip would skewer a power relay, or sever a neural cluster. The previous owner of the weapon had paid patient, diligent care to its every touch of maintenance, and it showed in how like-new it worked. Better than new even, as it took new blades three seconds to draw; the holder of this weapon had tweaked it to a previously unknown plateau of operation, a show of keen field intelligence that Prowl envied.

When Jazz had first had the blade installed, Prowl's only response had been one of dismissal.

"_What do you think you'll prove with that, huh?" He smacked the blade aside, "This is a war, not some stupid underworld knife fight! The fact that you ever considered that it would be a prudent decision to have some back alley hack hand patch a sparring blade into your arm is just more proof that you're not nearly ready to serve the Prime in his personal entourage! Stupid, hot rod antics like that will only get you and him killed."_

_Jazz scoffed and snapped the blade in and out, "You're just not imaginative enough to put something like this to good use." He feigned a few slashes with the weapon, "I'm gonna gut me a seeker with this little beauty, wait and see."_

"_In the three seconds it takes for that blade to clear the internal sheath, a seeker would tear your head off and vent spent lubricant down your cranial support conduit." Prowl shook his head, turning to walk away. "We're in the middle of a war for our very lives, and you're prancing around like an eager sparkling. When will you ever grow up?"_

"You were so far beyond me back then, and I was too arrogant to figure it out." He drew the blade again, his optics reflected on the polished surface, "How many assassinations did you perform with this? How many of the Decepticon generals that 'vanished' without a trace met their terminations at the end of this… ingenious little instrument: Lord Zarak, Hungurr, Astrotrain, Blastoff? What about the near assassination of Shockwave, or the crucial interrogation of Jetfire, who helped plan the femme massacre? How many times have you actually saved Prime… all of Cybertron…. with this stupid little toy?"

Energon spattered to the ground beneath him, and as he came from his reverie, he realized he'd been squeezing the blade with his free hand; the weapon severed the bias line and spilled vital fluids on the alien soil. He released the blade instantly, marveling how the force he'd exerted upon it hadn't even marred the finish. "A training implement, turned life-saving tool of freedom… I could have learned so much from you, if I'd only stopped talking and listened for once."

Retracting the blade, Prowl transformed and started back to base, leaving a speckled trail of blue and black behind him. The blade was important to him; it had been a physical representation of the misconception that Prowl had fostered for countless vorns regarding his brother, a play-thing turned into a deadly assassin's weapon, just as his lackadaisical brother had turned out to be a hero whose deeds would never be sung. _I may never know the truth of your past, brother,_ he mused in determination, _but I know that the merits of your devotion to Prime will live on in this blade, and in the shocked faces of every Decepticon I impale with it. I swear it, on the Matrix itself, your story will live on._

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **Yeah I got it written. I was like pulling teeth but it finally made it to paper… um screen. Hey, Ben. I found a place for the Prowl introspective you wrote. In addition, I have one spot still open for a mech. Come on people, who should I use.

To **Library Drone SAR **- Thank you, tha was one of the hardest things to write. To **Novamyth** - Is this better? Ben and I have many wonderful things planed and LOTS of character development. To **flyingtwinkie **- Thank you. Velocity is slowly changing, but she will always be Velocity. To **Jacqueline **- Writers block is the worst. Please tell me you haven't posted it, because I haven't seen an alert… which doesn't mean it wasn't there. Oh hi, my name is autumn sparrow, and I am a total ditz… After I post this, I'll go check. To **thephoenixqueen** - Thank you. We have discussed Bluestreak as a potential. We are trying to move away from the standard characters. To **BB** - Yeah, it just didn't feel right. I think you were bummed for a couple of days after we wrote that bit about Drift. To **Northwest Sage **- Thank you. I hope we had achieved the fine balance of just enough. Personally, long death scenes give me the giggles. To **VarsityLove -** The link doesn't work? I'll repost it in the next chapter. Thank you, I try to make this entertaining. Shh, but sometimes I don't even know how everyone will act.


	19. Courting the Shadows

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**, his talent and patience are greatly appreciated and admired. Beta read by **Okami-myrrhibis**, her glorious nit-picking makes this make sense.

_**XxxX**_

_**Courting the Shadows**_

_**Xxxx**_

Outfitted in cheap jeans, Jim's warm flack jacket and decent hiking boots, Catherine checked her meager gear and waved good-bye to the retreating vestige of her cameraman's older truck. As the dust settled around her, she stepped off the road and started her journey through the Nevada desert. She had a time frame of six hours to cover the distance to the Autobot base, poke around for information or potential contacts and then get out. It sounded like a daunting task, but she was in excellent shape and could run a ten-minute mile. For the first time, she was grateful for all of those hours at the gym, so she could stay a tight size five.

Her shoes crunched on the gravel and the cold winter wind blew against her face making her exposed cheeks go numb; she was grateful Jim had insisted that he give her one of his coats. Checking her map, she set off towards her destination; a lone coyote followed her at a distance. Hopefully, the beast was only curious about the human in his territory.

_**XxxX**_

The readings for quadrant two-section alpha eleven changed dramatically, instantly alerting the Autobot to the presence of an intruder. Cliffjumper hurriedly focused in on the area and rechecked the readings.

"Hey, Sides'. I think there is a human in the desert and is on an intercept course to the base," the smaller mech said with unrestrained excitement. Nothing was going to get past the enthusiastic red soldier while he was on duty.

The bored melee warrior didn't glance around as he challenged Teletraan-1 to another round of Bolts and Brackets; the red Lamborghini was determined to beat the A-I just once. "Probably a soldier out for a walk. Humans do that sometimes," he said in a condescending tone.

"Nope, the sensors indicate no one has left the base in four point three eight two five Earth hours. Nothing indicates it would be someone stationed here. Give me half a breem and the anomaly will be within remote camera range."

Sideswipe looked annoyingly at the other mech. "Which is it a human or an anomaly? Oh, perhaps it is and anomalous human?" the warrior said. chuckling at his own joke. The blank stare he received from Cliffjumper only made him laugh harder. The overly eager 'Bot annoyed him about as much as being stuck on security detail and assigned to monitor duty. Anything would be better than staring at the same four walls for six cycles.

"I have a visual," the minibot announced. "Hmm. It appears to be a human female…hey; it's the reporter that was here a few days ago." In one bound, the larger warrior had shoved aside his shift partner and was gazing at the display screen. The image of a slender woman pulling a much too-large coat around her in an attempt to stave off the cold while she trudged along the barren terrain was crystal clear on the monitor.

Sideswipe clapped the smaller mech on the shoulder. "Good job, Cliffy. Looks like you have found the only interesting thing to occur since the 'Cons tried to level this place a few diun or so ago."

The foot soldier's optics widened in alarm. "They did?" he asked in a whispered voiced.

Sideswipe headed towards the door with a bounce in his step. "Hey, umm…can you handle this? I think I need to go and umm…intercept the potential…threat."

"But shouldn't we notify Prime or Prowl? Don't they need to know about this…?"

"…No. No, no, they are in the middle of an extensive debriefing. It's only one human. I'll go and intercept her, find out what she is after and then send her on her way. If I think the femme is a threat, then I'll call the Big 'Bot myself. See, easy and simple; no reason to raise the alarms over one delicate, helpless little female."

"Oh, okay," Cliffjumper's voice sounded like the situation was anything but okay.

Sideswipe gave the smaller mech a thumbs-up gesture along with a wicked smile. "Wish me luck," he said and headed out the door.

_**XxxX.**_

Checking her watch, Catherine was very happy. She was making better than expected time. She figured if she kept her pace up, she would have an entire forty extra minutes to work with. That was a good thing; in truth, she didn't have much of a plan once she entered the complex. Natural instincts and sensual charm had always kept her out of trouble, and got her what she needed; she didn't see why she should change her strategy now. Also, Jim was a phone call away. He knew which lawyers to contact, and what reporters would cause an embarrassingly loud noise for her. A distant rumble echoed softly through the hills. The pitch changed and she realized it was the roar of a powerful engine and sounded like it was getting closer. Looking around, she found little in the way of cover; the sparse vegetation only offered protection for creatures the size of rabbits. Taking her cue from her coyote escort, she started to run when a vehicle vaulted over the top of a nearby hill, like a shark leaping from the water intent on snagging a prize before disappearing to the murky depths.

Catherine couldn't believe what she was witnessing as a posh red Lamborghini bounced along the dirt as if it was designed for off-road travel. The super car slowed as it came towards her and stopped about twenty feet away, cutting off her retreat. Then it began to shift. The reporter had ceased running and was mesmerized as vehicle finished unfolding and an Autobot stood before her. Once his transformation was complete, the mech knelt one on knee and gave her a wolfish smile. "Well, this must be my lucky day, finding a human femme all alone in the big… old… desert."

_**XxxX **_

_The towers of Iacon glimmered in the light cast of by the solar radiation as it dissolved against the radiant shielding over Cybertron's capital, the brilliant stars glimmering like droplets of energon against matte black alloy. Cosmos cycled his vents in a contented sigh, looking up at the many suns beyond his sight, and the countless planets orbiting them. "Someday…I shall see them all, and speak with the countless life forms on each world. There are few things as amazing as the intricate wonders of alien civilizations."_

"_I can only imagine," Moonracer, giggled softly as she lay curled in his arms, nuzzling his hand with her cheek. "I wish I could go with you, it sounds wonderful."_

"_I don't see why you couldn't." He smiled from behind the combat mask he always wore, "Within a few cycles, Wheeljack and Perceptor could fashion the appropriate modifications to make your alternate form space worthy." He lightly brushed his fingertips along her chassis, "Just think; you and I, exploring the universe, riding the solar winds, free to indulge our whims."_

"_It's not that . . ." The pale blue femme buried her face against his chest._

"_Then I don't understand," he cradled the side of her hidden face, "What could possibly stop us from doing what makes us happy?"_

"_I can't go… because I'm dead." Her words made ice form in his vents, and as she looked up at him, he found himself unable to activate his vox; the once vibrant blue optics had dulled to dark and lifeless holes. "You killed me, Cosmos." Spent pneumatic lubricants trickled out of the corner of her perfect mouth as she bit down on his chest, the metal crumpling up and shredding before the rows of razor sharp teeth she used to devour him. She dug her fingers into the bite marks and pulled, opening his chest and exposing his radiant spark. "YOU KILLED ME!"_

_Cosmos screamed and kicked out with both feet, her sparkless body crumbling apart from the force of the blow. Gone were the towers of Iacon and the familiar stars of the Cybertronian heavens; he was back on that nameless moon, surrounded by the bodies of the dead Wreckers. Only…they weren't quite so dead. As Cosmos tried to scuttle away from the still chewing remains of Moonracer's chassis, a powerful hand jerked his arm from behind him, sending him crashing to his back. A surge of pain shot up the limb, and as he looked to his side, he watched in horror as Perceptor gnawed through his wrist, devouring his left hand. "Why did you kill me, Cosmos, I thought we were friends?" The scientist moaned in a sad voice, his normally proper accent now strangely discordant._

"_No!" Cosmos kicked in Perceptor's face, the Bot's form dissolving into dust as the stocky Autobot scrambled to his feet. "This can't be possible! I saw him kill you, kill all of you!"_

"_Who are you trying to convince, old friend?" Powerful hands grabbed Cosmos by the shoulders and spun him around, putting him face to face with Glyph, the Wrecker demolitionist. The aged warrior still bore the mark where Sharkticon had bitten half of his face off, the optic bulb dangling from the breeched socket. "We all fought and died, trying to protect Moonracer; not only did you sit back and watch while he tortured us to death, you killed her." Glyph grabbed a hold of Cosmos' battle mask, ripping it off of the Autobot's face. He screamed and reeled backwards, tripping over Moonracer and crashed the ground again. The femme bit down on his leg, her teeth shredding the nerve cluster; sparks and energon sprayed out of the wound, his leg going dead._

"_It wasn't my fault!" Cosmos struggled to get the unresponsive leg under himself, "There was nothing I could do! IT WASN'T MY FAULT!"_

_The shriek of metal alerted Cosmos; paralyzed in horror, he stared down, watching the length of sharpened Quintesson alloy pierce his trunk. Springer released the handle, turning Cosmos' face up to meet the dead Wrecker's gaze. "You were jealous of me for having what you desired. You wanted her so badly that you were willing to let him kill us all. Our deaths are on your hands. Coward." He tore the blade out of Cosmos with a savage twist, spraying energon and lubricants as the scientist fell back to the soil for the final time._

_The corpses fell upon him like carrion birds, stripping his armor and alloy away, devouring it with obscenely wet noises, their mouth gnashing impossibly vicious teeth in bottomless hunger. He tried to scream, rewarded by nothing but the taste of his own vital fluids as they gushed from his ruined mouth. He lay on his back, staring up at the massive ringed planet, when a shadow fell over him._

"_How the mighty have fallen . . ." Sharkticon chuckled and kneeled down beside the Wrecker, stroking his face as if he were a loved one, or a cherished pet._

"_N . . . no . . ." Cosmos rasped in a wet gurgle, "I k . . . k . . ."_

_Sharkticon swabbed a gobbet of ooze from the corner of Cosmos' mouth then licked it off his finger. "Maybe you did... of course; I've been devouring Autobot sparks for vorns. You could say I have a spare... or two..." Precise, elegant purple fingers reached into the shimmering glow within the hole in Cosmos' chest, and from it pulled a scintillating sphere of pale blue light. The Decepticon smiled and raised it in a toast. "To your health… bon appétit..."_

_Cosmos screamed as the orb slipped between the monstrous cannibal's lips, and as sudden as the horrors began, everything went black. With no spark of his own, Cosmos would never be allowed to join the Matrix. He would languish in eternity, accompanied by nothing but the sound of his own scream…._

_**XxxX**_

Catherine Cutter found herself in a very peculiar situation. Her instincts were telling her to run like the Devil himself was after her, but her curiosity and desire to land what she knew was going to be the biggest news story of the year was attempting to override her common sense. The Autobot had introduced himself as Sideswipe, and after talking to her for a couple of minutes, he transformed back into an Italian sports car and was now trying to coax her into him. The winged door was propped open of its own accord allowing warm air to wash over her cold face and hands. Throwing caution to the wind, she lowered herself to the driver's seat and shivered as hot air blew across her body. When the door shut, she could have sworn she heard a stifled chuckle.

"See isn't that better?" the car asked. She couldn't help but nod as she melted into the contoured seats. "You humans know that you are vulnerable to the elements and yet you still go out in them. You should be glad I was here to save you." The words were innocent enough, but the tone in the alien's voice was anything but. The reporter found herself wondering exactly what the Cybertronians saw when they looked at humans, then she wondered if all of Optimus Prime's men were as civil and compassionate as he was. She began thinking she really didn't want to know the truth to that question. She was nervous enough without giving into unfounded fears; best to just push forward and see what happens.

"Okay, what do I do? Is there anything I shouldn't touch?" she asked feeling like an idiot, but not sure, if there was a better way to ask the question. The last thing she wanted to do was commit an intergalactic faux pas.

"Oh, you can touch anything you want," the Autobot said in dark tones. Catherine almost reached for the door release, then stopped and scolded herself. _She was acting like a fool; these were highly advanced beings. What was she thinking?_

"So, are you really trying to sneak into the base?" the mechanoid asked nonchalantly as he started rolling forward on his tires.

During her trudge through the barren landscape, she had thought about all of the excuses or demands she could make in the event she had been discovered. Her tactics depended solely on who found her, or who was interrogating her. She didn't conceive of a plan involving sitting in the warm, comfortable interior of one of the lesser Autobots. "Yup." The word fell out of her mouth before she could stop it. The chuckle that vibrated around her made her hair stand on end.

"Why?" the Autobot asked her.

She sat in silence trying to decide if she could trust the alien, then it dawned on her, he might be willing to help if the results would benefit his race. "I heard that the government had tortured several of your members and I want to make sure that it doesn't happen again."

The car remained quiet as it rolled back and forth on its tires as if it was thinking. "The Big 'Bot didn't like what had happened to old Megatron, but he was planning on terminating his brother anyway, so…" the words trailed off tantalizingly.

Catherine bolted upright. That was a major piece of information that no one knew about. "They were brothers?" she practically yelped.

Again, that dangerous chuckle rolled around her and sent shivers up her back. "Yup, they were brothers. Common knowledge on Cybertron. I bet you didn't know that Optimus wants to have a permanent outpost on Earth?"

Catherine sat in shock, her mind reeling and churning. What else did this Autobot know and how much was he willing to…share. Almost as an answer to her thoughts, the mech broke the silence. "How about we help each other out. I'll get you to the base and tell you what you want to know, and you help me…understand humans a little better." To the reporter, the arrangement sounded acceptable, even though she didn't like the way the Autobot said, "Understand".

"Ya never make a deals with da devil, baby girl," echoed thorough the reporter's head. She hadn't thought about her parent's Jamaican housekeeper for years, the dark skinned woman had tons of advice and freely shared it, even when it wasn't welcome. Shoving away the image of black sparkly eyes framed by wrinkled chocolate skin, Catherine Cutter ran a hand along the steering wheel. "Deal," she said to the alien.

The red sports car literally roared as it leapt forward, tires biting into the hard dirt for traction as he accelerated to impossible speeds. The reporter had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and her arms locked in panic as the world sped past the window at nauseating rate. Knowing her death was immanent, Catherine screamed when the out of control mech made a hard right and slid sideways over the gravel. Her mind was demanding that Autobot slow down, but the words never reached her mouth. Terror had short-circuited many of the connections between her brain and body. It took several seconds for her to realize the demon Lamborghini was slowing as the base sat in the distance.

"Hey, I didn't offline ya, did I?" the car asked. Catherine shook her head, the rapid pounding of her heart made it impossible to talk. "Well, that's good. Sorry about that, but I wasn't suppose to be off base and if Prowl found out he would turn my aft into a rifle rack."

The reporter listened to the Autobot laugh and realized the only other people she had heard laugh like that had issues with authority. She was wondering if it was too late for a change in plans. "Um…Sideswipe, wouldn't it be better if you let me out here. I mean you can't drive me into the hanger can you?"

"Sure I can. Watch." As she watched, the windows of the vehicle darkened and became opaque. With wide eyes, the woman hesitantly touched the material in amazement. "You really didn't think that was glass did you," the mech asked in a scoffing tone. Unable to see out Catherine sat back and waited.

She didn't have to wait long, the car finally rolled to a stop. "This is what I want you to do," the Autobot addressed her. "When I open the door you are to run to my front and while transforming, I'll pick you up."

"You're going to carry me?" she squeaked.

"Yup, can't have you running all over the place. Just curl up in my hand and I'll get you below ground."

"Okay." As soon as she said the word, the driver side door popped open and the game was afoot.

_**XxxX**_

Velocity hurried after her mate and his officers, her shorter stature was making almost impossible to keep up without running. The medbay doors opened and in rushed the Autobot Commander leaving everyone else to follow in his wake. Prime reached Ratchet's side in great strides. "I received your message," he rumbled in a deep baritone, "What is Cosmos' status?"

The CMO cycled his vents, bowing his head, a data pad clutched in his hand. "I'm not sure what has happened, to be honest. He seemed to be doing fine; his repairs went ahead of schedule, his systems all checked out…"

The femme watched as Wheeljack visibly stiffened. "What are you saying?"

Ratchet stepped to the side, allowing them to see the prone Autobot's limp husk. "About six hundred seconds ago, his readings went erratic; I couldn't stabilize them, no matter what I tried. Sixty seconds ago, the monitors lost his spark signature. I'm sorry sir... he's gone."

The simple words seemed to suck the air out of the room; the mixed wave of sadness and rage that flooded across her bond with Prime was unexpectedly raw and pure, enough so that Velocity was paralyzed for a moment when it first passed over her. The strange 'Bot had apparently had some real history with her bonded, and losing him after all of the ruckus over his torture at the hands of the humans was a huge blow to Optimus. "Are you certain...?" He asked after a long pause; Ratchet nodded solemnly, and the commander cycled his vents in deep mourning, another valued friend lost, though not as they would have expected. "This is… unfortunate." Optimus forced the sorrow from his features, "Ratchet, please move him to the storage bay; I'll contact Secretary Keller in the morning, and we'll go over the decisions as to what happens to Cosmos' salvage-"

"NO!" the engineer's sudden outburst caught everyone off guard, "You have to try something else, Ratchet! It can't end here, not like this!" The engineer slammed his fist down on a nearby worktable, warping the metal and sending the implements scattering to the floor. His entire posture was wrought with barely contained rage, and Velocity stepped towards the distraught mech.

"It's no use, 'Jack." Velocity laid a hand on her friend's armor. "If Ratchet says he's gone, then-"

"NO!" Wheeljack slapped her hand off his shoulder, causing her to blink in shock. "It can't end like this, I won't let it!" The pearlescent mech spun and fled the room at a sprint, the sound of his footfalls swiftly fading into the distance.

"I didn't think it would hit him this hard..." Ratchet commented and stared at the doorway his bonded had just disappeared through; deep sadness contorting his facial plates.

Velocity turned to the CMO, realizing that 'Jack's emotional tumult would be hitting both of them through the bond they shared. Glancing toward the medic, Velocity commented, "I've never seen him go off like that. Were he and Cosmos friends back on Cybertron?"

"On Cybertron, the Council of Iacon relied on an elite group of scientists, these mechs would serve as both advisors and researchers." Prime's voice was soft and low, but it carried almost ominously throughout the medbay. "Wheeljack, as you know, can build anything if you give him the idea and the tools. There was also Perceptor, Starscream and Cosmos, who is responsible for about ninety percent of the maps that we use on Cybertron today. He has gone farther than any other Cybertronian, and encountered more alien races than I can remember. He never hesitated to try and sway others to rally under the changes I levied against Cybertronian law." The Prime's voice took on a wistful tone and his optics took on a distant glow. "He and Perceptor both were very close to Wheeljack, and often kept the council from levying the totality of their displeasure upon him when his experiments would go awry." Looking down at the limp form stretched on the table, the Prime sighed; another spark extinguished, another friend lost.

Wheeljack reentered the room; a mess of tools clumsily clutched under one arm, a large black device under the other. "Don't worry buddy, I've got ya covered…" Torch in hand, the engineer began hastily cutting into the cover of the black box and altering its contents. Then he attaching a set of rods, each one connected to the device by a black cable as thick as a human's leg. "I know what you need, a reboot… I just gotta make you reboot."

"Ratchet… what is he doing?" Prime glanced between the CMO and his somewhat erratic bonded.

"I'm not sure." Ratchet crooked an optical ridge, "What's that device with him?"

Velocity just shrugged when Optimus and Ratchet looked at her. She almost laughed at the thought that they were so confused as to seek advice from her.

"This is a di-polar neutralizer," the engineer stated. "The D.E.N. is a heavy artillery bomb; it generates an unfocused electromagnetic pulse, capable of neutralizing a dozen Decepticons. With some adjustments…" The commander looked to his CMO and his mate with no small degree of concern on his face.

Velocity glanced back at Wheeljack, "You don't think he's gonna..."

"CLEAR!" Wheeljack lifted the rods, one in each hand, over his head in preparation.

"He is!" Ratchet, and Prime leapt into action as Wheeljack's arms descended, the rods piercing Cosmos' chassis. Velocity was roughly flung to the side by the medic as he attempted to stop his bonded. Optimus also moved to intercept the scientist, but wound up trying not to step on his own mate and crush her. Loosing his balance, the massive Autobot made one desperate grab towards Wheeljack. The device flared brightly, filling the room with the overwhelming stench of ozone, before a devastating electromagnetic charge surged into Cosmos' body. The Autobot's form leapt straight up from the metal table as the energy exploded throughout the room, shooting through the miles of integrated wiring and circuitry and escaping into the greater municipal power grid of Nevada and Southern California.

The lights within the medical bay exploded in a fantastic shower of sparks, the last thing seen by any of them was Wheeljack's chassis as it was hurled to the ground under their combined assault. The darkness enveloped their melee, the base echoing with the confused shouts of both the military and the Cybertronians. "Get the frag off me!" Wheeljack's voice boomed in shock and surprise as he blindly struggled to get free of his assailants.

"Get the rods away from him!" Prime's voice was tense as the blind scramble ensued.

"Get your foot out of my vent!" Ratchet shoved someone away, hard.

"That's poking my-" Velocity yelped in surprise, "Shit, dammit, someone just shocked me!"

"Not me!" Wheeljack flung his hands up, smacking one of the others.

"Aft slag," the CMO cursed, "Watch where you swing that thing!" Ratchet flailed blindly.

Velocity snarled following the hard metal impact, "Right in the optics, damn I hope that doesn't scar."

"This is ridiculous," Prime's voice was sharp with annoyance, "Someone engage their chassis lights!"

Multicolored lights flared in the darkness, casting the room in shifting hues of vibrant color. The others shielded their faces from the glow, allowing their optics to adjust. Prime, Wheeljack, Ratchet, and Velocity were lying in a tangled heap on the medbay floor. They looked up toward the source of the rainbow lights. Cosmos was sitting up; confusion glowed in his yellow optics as the turned to gaze at the mechanoids piled on the floor near by. The strobing lights came from the many illuminations across his armor. "Uhh… what the spark is going on…" he ran his hand over his face, "Where am I?"

_**XxxX**_

Adjusting his hold on the woman curled in his palms, Sideswipe anxiously looked around him as the doors to his quarters opened. The lights overhead glowed brighter then the bulbs burst raining glass down on him and the female. Impermeable darkness consumed the underground base. Turning on his headlamps, the warrior stepped into the room he shared with his brother, his movements made his integrated illuminations bounce in a disorienting fashion. Carefully clearing the glass shards, he sat Catherine down and then proceeded to manually slide the door closed.

"What happened?" the reporter asked.

Sideswipe just shrugged. "I don't know, felt like a power overload." Turning his head, he took in the full view of the woman. She was… disheveled. Her clothes didn't fit right, her hair was pulled up and some of it had escaped the elastic band she had used to secure it. To the mech, she looked less than appealing, but the humans had a saying about beggars can't make decisions or something like that. Smiling like a hyena over a carcass Sideswipe said, "At least you're with me, where you'll be safe."

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **Alright, up to now I have been trying to get out a chapter a week, but the chapters have grown longer and with three people working on this, the time between emails has to be figured in AND sometimes real life just gets in the way. What does all of this mean to the loyal reader? It means that ya'll shall have to _sometimes _go two weeks between chapters. I'm sorry, I know…it sucks, but look on the bright side the chapters are getting longer and we are rapidly moving toward some serious action.

To **Detective Huckle **- Welcome aboard! Thank you, and I am glad you are enjoying the ride so far. Yu are right, things are starting to get interesting, so hang in there. To **Punk Autobot **- Where have you been? I've missed you. "Combat drills" was Ben's joke, as was Prowl's introspective. To **Kiba-The-Life-Guardian **- Ironhide spends more time baby-sitting than anything. Prowl is a workaholic. He just can't relax long enough to enjoy life or tolerate the antics of the more…vivacious mechs. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Mirage is what he is. Trying to keep this rated T so the OP/V smex will be hinted only. Sorry. I might get bored and do a stand alone piece later. The humans are just panicky and Keller is being pulled every which way in Washington. To **- everyone **that has placed this little drabble on their fav or alert lists, I thank you. It makes the headaches of writing this monster worth the time and effort.


	20. Stumbling In The Dark

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, mild racism and sexism.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Coauthored with **Benjamin Bradt**. I believe he has written about half of this chapter. Ben, thank you for picking up the slack when my life got a little busy and my brain turned to mush…ok, mushier than normal. Thank you **okami-myrrhibis **for beta reading for us. You'd never know that I was literate from the mess she has to clean up.

_**XxxX**_

_**Stumbling in the Dark**_

_**XxxX**_

Laying in warm contentment, Tony Melby kissed the top of the head that rested on his shoulder; short, blond hairs tickled his nose. "Do you have to go?" sighed the woman cuddling next to him. The disappointment in her voice was almost enough to make him change his mind.

"Yea. I gotta go. I haven't been home to see my mom in a while," he responded while adjusting the blankets around them. "Hey, you could ask for shore leave or something and come with me."

Lieutenant Osgood laughed her harp-sealish- laugh. "It's a furlough. And I can't." That obnoxious laugh of hers was one of the reasons he was so attracted to the leggy woman. They had bumped into each other several times, and it took Wheeljack to break the ice. The mech had noticed the way he had been looking at Osgood and one day went over to a line of soldiers and scooped the lieutenant up, only to announce to everyone within earshot that Tony was interested in interfacing with her and she should let him. After that humiliation, Tony stayed below ground and would not look anyone in the eyes. A couple of days later, a soft knock pulled his attention away from the algorithm that he had been working on. Looking up, he saw the perky woman standing in his doorway; her face blushed a deep scarlet. She looked at the wall behind him and crispy said, "Epps thinks we should stick with human courting traditions and at least have dinner before anything else." He just nodded like a bobble headed doll.

Snuggled against each other, Tony decided that he owed 'Jack a huge "Thank you" for sticking his big metal nose where it didn't belong. The minutes moved with a lazy slowness and neither of them bothered to say anything as he trailed a finger along her arm.

Finally, Osgood broke the companionable silence. "So what have you been working so hard on?"

"If I told you I'd have to kill you." His cheek earned him another grating bark of laughter and a punch in the ribs. Gawd, she could punch hard. "Ok. Ok, I'll tell you," he relented with a pain-filled hiss. "I'm not sure what it is, but it is awesome. Okay, try to imagine the energy from a battery; there isn't much there. Now, loop it back to itself, forcing it to grow exponentially, while at the same time it is contained within the same little battery casing." He looked at her to see if she was following; the furrowed brow told him that he hadn't lost her yet. "For this to work, there has to be some kinda' field or shell around the battery to keep the energy from leaking out or degrading or exploding. What makes this so gnarly, is that energy cannot come from nowhere. It has to come from somewhere; something has to be modified to convert it to energy, a chemical reaction, a kinetic movement, something has to happen to produce energy, but this is energy making energy with out anything being added. This model that 'Jack has me fussing over will produce massive amounts of energy out of almost nothing." Glancing over he saw she was trying to be excited, but the glazed over, confused expression made it clear that she had no clue what he was talking about. It didn't matter, they had fun together and she could beat him to a pulp if she wanted to and he found that incredible hot.

She angled her face up and he leaded in to kiss her; the rapid, "pop-pop-pop" of the light bulbs shattered the moment and glass rained down from the overhead lighting.

The woman lying next to him immediately untangled her legs from his and reached over the side of the bed for her clothes. He had kidded her merciless for the way that she would carefully arrange her uniform on top of her boots and tuck it all just under the bed. Now he understood the purpose behind her fastidiousness; in the total darkness she didn't have to search, and was dressed within seconds. It was military precision at its finest. "Don't move," she said. "The floor is covered with broken glass."

He didn't argue and just waited patiently in the darkness. Her side of the bed sprang up as she stood, and he could here the crunching of glass under her boots. The beam of a high-powered flashlight snapped on, blinding him for several seconds as it swung back and forth searching the floor. A wad of material hit him in the face, and his shoes landed in his lap. Trying to untangle himself from his pants, he felt dry lips press against his. "I gotta go to work. Call me when you get back from having Christmas with your family," Osgood whispered while trailing a hand down his leg.

Then, she was gone. Out the door to her quarters and off to help save the world. Blinking at the impenetrable blackness, he reminded himself to call her several times while he was away.

_**XxxX.**_

"Shouldn't you go and see what happened?" Even to her ears, her voice sounded fragile and jittery.

The Autobot just stretched out and turned onto his side; looking at her. "Naw, it felt like a power surge. That kinda' stuff is best left to Wheeljack to sort out." The soft blue optics glimmered merrily, washing her in their glow. After convincing Sideswipe that his headlamps were searing her retinas and to turn them off, his illuminated 'eyes' were the only source of light in the room. The Autobot emitted a startling bark of laughter that made the reporter jump. "For all we know, Wheeljack could have been to one to cause the blackout. A few vorns back, he was asked to recalibrate the oscillating arms on a NEX Reactor…" The mech started snickering and laughing. He curled around her in a fit of hysteria, and Catherine began to have concerns about her own safety. Being squished to death by a giant, giggling alien was not one of her top ten ways to leave this life. "Oh, Primus you should have seen the mess…" Snort. "…The blast could be felt all the way to the residential sector. No one knows how he survived to stumble his way out of that disaster."

Catherine watched as the robot laughed even harder, his optics unfocused and distant as he relived memories that were truly light years away from where she sat. These beings had eons of stories to share; fascinating experiences that made them exotic, extraordinary and completely mundane and familiar at the same time. She felt giddy as idea after idea came to her in rapid succession. She was going to show the world the true nature of these Cybertronians.

Movement drew her attention away from her thoughts as a hand hovered over her for a fraction of a second before it slowly descended towards her. Involuntarily wincing she waited for the painful thud of metal against her skull, but it never came; only whisper soft touches. That amazed her. She thought that… well, it really didn't matter what she had thought as she reached out and ran her hand along the metal digit. The warmth surprised her, as did the scratches and dings that resembled scars.

The caresses moved from her head to her arm and Catherine smiled at the mech's curiosity. Their species had so much to share with each other, and here she was at the forefront, just letting one of them touch her. The alien that called himself Sideswipe was grinning like a kid in a candy store, or a randy teen on prom night. That last thought made her sit up a little straighter and look at her surroundings a little differently. They were in his quarters, he was stretched out on what she assumed to be their version of a bed, she was sitting lotus position, on the hard slab, in the general vicinity of his chest, and no fucking way was _that_ even possible.

Pushing the large finger away, she stood and stepped a bit further from the Autobot. Her actions were rewarded with a slight narrowing of the mech's optics and a frown. She put on her best "determined reporter" face and attempted to ignore the static charge in the air. "Earlier you mentioned that the Decepticon leader was Optimus Prime's brother. Care to elaborate?"

Sideswipe rolled onto his back and waved a hand absently. "Yeah, Ol' Megs was the Big Bot's brother. Like I said, it's not really a big deal. Brothers aren't common, but they aren't unusual either." The robot rolled back over to face her and smiled slyly; with a wink he said, "I'd rather talk about you. So, are you a virgin?"

"What…No…Wait? What?" The unexpected nature of the question had thrown the hard-nosed reporter off balance. She met the massive alien's optics and was astounded to find only sincere innocence in the mech's expression. Catherine sighed and rubbed her temple, remembering the exchange student that her high school had hosted. Not only did the boy have a marginal understanding of English, he stumbled over the cultural differences between capitalistic America and the former Soviet block. Chalking the question up to just curiosity and lack of experience, she did remember hearing that Sideswipe was one of the Cybertronians that had arrived about a year ago. An idea leapt forward and she grabbed hold of it like it was a life preserver. "I'll make you a deal big guy; you answer my questions and I'll answer yours." The predatory smile that the mech's face twisted into looked ghoulish in the cool blue light of his optics. The woman had to remind herself it was just a play of the light on his metal skin.

"What do you want to know?" he asked simply.

The world was her oyster, or at least details of the Cybertronians' lives were. With great care, she checked the camera that was secured in her pocket and turned it on. The device would probably be useless in this light, but the sound would be usable. With a subtle gesture she checked to make sure that the tiny, digital lens was still clipped to the inside of her collar, just in case. "Um…If they were brothers, then why were they fighting?"

The casual shrug was not the answer she had hoped for. "Who knows?" Sideswipe said.

"That isn't an answer," she reminded him.

"Okay. Megatron was the High Lord Protector long before Prime was Prime. When Sentinel Prime, that was the Big 'Bot in charge before Optimus, was assassinated…"

"Assassinated?" she yipped.

The mechanoid scowled at her and she covered her mouth in lieu of an apology. "Yes, assassinated; but it wasn't until much later that anyone figured out it was Megs that did it. Anyways, Optimus was chosen as the new Prime, and lead the empire with his brother. Things were really good for a while; those of us on the lower end had a much easier time than before."

"So you remember when Optimus became the Prime? What was that like?"

"Fraggit. Do I look that old? No, I wasn't there for the ceremony. I hadn't even been sparked yet, and if I had been, I wouldn't have wasted my time watching some unknown mech give up his life and freedom to become the Prime. Primus, how boring. Like it matters to me." Catherine just blinked. Perfect, the only alien she had a chance to talk to and he was an apathetic loser.

_**XxxX**_

'_It was just a memory glitch.'_ Ratchet's words echoed in Prime's cranial plates as he stood on the hillside, looking at the back of an old friend who had been dead mere cycles earlier. _'Something has happened to him and his cerebral network can't fully process it. When he fell into stasis lock the memory glitch was so powerful that he could not cancel it out and come online, he was convinced that whatever occurred was happening all over again, and the shock almost killed him. Optimus, it's trauma, plain and simple. Either he accepts it and moves on or it will slowly consume his sanity."_

"_Are you certain?" he asked his CMO._

_The medic sighed wearily. "Yes. It's becoming an all too familiar condition among our kind."_

Cosmos was in awe of the majestic landscape; the yellow sun glowed like a flawless gemstone in the heavens, set against an energon-blue sky that stretched into eternity. Millions of life-forms filled the world beyond his sight, and his communication relays were on fire with the thousands of different media inputs he was receiving every second. The alien world that his Prime had landed on was a banquet of exotic languages, music, and images. He was almost shaking with anticipation to take it all in. As he turned to his leader, a deep love filled his yellow optics. He approached the towering form of Optimus and gently rested a hand on the flame-covered forearm. "I am so relieved to see you well, my old friend."

"And I, to see you." The commander smiled warmly at his shorter comrade, "I was quite…surprised by your entry."

Cosmos bowed his head awkwardly, "I am so sorry for my…dramatics; such insensible attempts at heroism are better left to the trained warriors. One, as unskilled as I, should never be trusted with a weapon."

"Mute it;" Prime grumbled disapprovingly, "The courage of your misinformed actions speaks of a brave, dedicated spark. I'd value you at my back in the battlefield."

Cosmos turned away, walking slowly back up the short hill so that the alien sky filled his optics. He crossed his arms behind his back, or rather, attempted to; his arms were thick and short, not really designed for such a task. He knew that he shouldn't be out of the med bay yet, but the Prime, in a rare moment of blatant stubbornness, ignored the ranting of his CMO and assisted him in leaving the underground base to take a walk into the desert. The dowdy green mech looked over his shoulder to address his leader. "The alternate form you have chosen is fitting; very powerful and noble in appearance, this planet's populace has a wonderful sense of design; their colors and hard lines do good things for your aesthetic appeal, Optimus." The 'Bot's voice had darkened, he wasn't sure he liked anything to do with humans yet, and it showed in tone, not his words.

Prime walked up after him slowly, "Cosmos, our human allies are in quite an uproar over the recent events, and they demand to know why you attacked them, and so do I."

Cosmos' optics went vacant as he cycled through fragmented memory banks. "It is all so vague… " His optics flickered. "I remember waking up in pain. There were a pair of small organics cutting my armor off with a particle beam, and as I struggled to online my systems, I received your distress beacon."

He looked up in time to see his commander's azure optics turn a darker blue. Eons of experience informed Cosmos that the Prime's anger was starting to stir. The massive mech stared ahead, turned inward to his own thoughts, his body seemingly relaxed, but only a fool would antagonize the Prime when he was in such a state.

"Sir?"

"I wanted to believe that Keller was telling the truth about being oblivious to your condition." The words were spoken in a quiet mournful tone.

Cosmos repeated himself, "Sir?"

The confused mech was frozen by the iron-hard look his leader was giving him. "Our relationship with the humans is tenuous. Many of them would have us dismantled for their personal gain rather than attempt a mutually beneficial alliance. Furthermore, their technology was based off Megatron, whom they kept a prisoner for nearly three of their generations. Everyday we have to be mindful of our actions as not to incite anymore to speak out against us, and now, you have blasted your way out of the military installation, causing it to collapse in on itself, killing scores of humans in the process…"

The scientist was anchored to where he stood. The horror of what his leader had just told him was sinking in and those blue optics held the knowledge of the Matrix as they searched his spark. Cosmos could only feel self-revulsion that his actions had brought about so much harm and death. He might be an Autobot, but he had no taste for warfare or violence; he could still count on one hand the number of other mechs he had terminated during the entire course of the accursed civil war that plagued his home world.

"They were intent on your vivisection for reverse engineering." Prime crossed his arms angrily. "They deserved what they got," he said in clipped measured tones.

"What happened to you, Orion?" The coldness in his friend's voice shocked the scientist back to reality; _his_ Prime would never say such a thing. "Nothing validates the loss of life, regardless of species or origin; you told me that when the first whispers of war reached our audios. These creatures, these humans, are entitled to the benefit of the doubt. If they say that they were unknowing, I would choose to believe them; if you wish to crusade on my behalf I cannot stop you, but I would rather we put both our parties' indiscretions behind us, and work toward a renewed sense of alliance…"

The expressions that crossed the Prime's face stalled the words in Cosmos' vocalizer. In an instant, the harsh brutal glow in the commander's optics had softened. The entire red and blue frame seemed to sag with the release of pent up tension, and the ghost of a smile played along his face. Optimus emitted a sigh of relief and grabbed him by the shoulder. "I am glad to hear you say such things."

Cosmos blinked a few times trying to understand what had just occurred. "But I caused the deaths of…"

"Yes, and it is unfortunate, but even the humans differentiate between what is accidental and what is malicious intent. Your defense of those that would harm you tells me that you are the same kind-sparked Cosmos I knew on Cybertron, and that mech would go out of his way to preserve life."

"And had I not been 'that same mech'?" His curious mind had formed the question and slipped it out of his audio processor before he realized it was there.

Optimus gave him a sorrowful glance. "You would have joined with the Matrix by now."

Cosmos covered his emotions by staring at the vista around him; he never thought that he would be a misspoken word away from the Prime's justice. He knew he should be horrified or at the very least, offended that Orion would have considered such a thing, but he wasn't. He felt a wave of pity for the young leader, and disgust at the difficult decisions that Optimus was continuously forced to make to try to save his people. Now it appeared that the diminutive, organic humans had come under the protection of the Prime of Cybertron, and the Autobots would have to make sacrifices to appease the seemingly ignoble race. They stood in silence, each deep within their own thoughts. The sun moved overhead as Optimus considered the best way to express his genuine regret for the lives lost, while not handing the recovering mech over to the government, and Cosmos hesitantly flittered his way from one satellite transmission to another, trying to understand his leader's esteem for the species.

Optimus finally broke the silence with a static whisper. "What about the rest of the Wreckers?"

"They're gone," came Cosmos's flat reply.

The ridge of Prime's cranial brow crooked upward in surprise then knotted together in a deep frown, "Gone?"

Cosmos did not move as he spoke, the words falling to the ground like lead weights. "Sharkticon ate them." Prime was speechless as Cosmos continued. "Approximately, seven hundred and forty-six million miles from here sits a ringed planet; it has many moons. On the largest is where we were when we found Sharkticon. There, the bodies of the Wreckers remain…what is left of them"

"Cosmos… "

"The warnings that Ultra Magnus gave about him, did not do him justice. He was a monster," the stocky Autobot's voice became somewhat hollow, "He tore Twin Twist's flight rotors off with one hand, tearing out his central core and snapping it up like an energon goodie. He preyed upon us like we were sparklings in a Juvian Alloyvore's web; Twin Twist's flight capabilities, Springer's customized motion controls, Perceptor's data base… he took from them whatever he lacked, and turned the rest into fuel. No one was spared."

The commander's voice took on a note of contained alarm "Is he…?"

"Deactivated? Vaporized." The scientist stared into his arm, analyzing the hard silver scars in the metal. Patches. Wheeljack and Ratchet had replaced the ruined alloy, and the traces of nano-sensors told him from who the replacement parts had been salvaged. "Yes, I killed Sharkticon, as much as I killed the Wreckers."

"You killed? Cosmos, it sounds like Sharkticon did the killing, you're lucky to have survived."

"I terminated Moonracer." The simple words hung in the cold night air, dangerous and waiting. Memories crossed behind the mech's optics; flashes of violence and carnage awakened from dormancy by his confession.

"What do you mean?"

"Sharkticon had stripped her of her armor, scarred and tortured her, accessed her again and again for the pleasure of hearing her scream. He was conditioning her, a toy for his amusement and when she begged me to release her, I…" The 'Bot's vocalizer crackled as it broke off, his chassis trembling.

Prime immediately closed the distance between them. "You did what anyone who truly loved another would do; you proved to her how much you truly cared for her. You gave her peace…" The Prime's voice was heavy with sympathy, a deep resonance meant to calm a spark, but his expression was closed and unreadable.

"I condemned her to suffer." Cosmos's voice was hard and bitter as it came back on. "When he started picking us off, I hid in the caves, watching as he killed and devoured every one of them. I sat for breems upon breems, watching him delight in the entropy he tainted her luminous spark with. When they needed me, I did nothing but cower in the shadows; I am as guilty of their deaths as he." The somber oration began to slowly stir with the vestiges of a deep hatred, more at himself than anything else.

"That's pure slag and you know it; there was nothing you could have done."

The stocky scientist turned on his Commander, "Why? Because I am inferior? Because I am weak, and pathetic; _is _itmy job to sit in the shadows and watch as good 'Bots suffer? I could have tried! I could have done something, anything; deactivation would be preferable to this, living in memorial to the cruelty of that… that _THING_. His malice is immortalized in my continued operation."

"Because you allow it." Prime jabbed one finger in Cosmos' chest, knocking the mech onto his aft. The soft, dulcet tones were gone, replaced by the hard-nosed 'matter of fact' forcefulness of the Prime. Cosmos had watched as Ratchet taught Orion Pax how to dominate the council, to command their silence with a righteous gaze and a candor that permitted no questioning. He remembered that the gentle laborer had balked at the idea of using aggressive intimidation as a tool of leadership, but once he was forced to deal with the more stalwart likes of Ironhide and the General, Grimlock, Optimus had developed a real knack for it. "The truth is that you are not a warrior. You detest the concept of battle more that Ratchet or myself. Your place has always been in intelligence, surveillance and development. You should never have been assigned to the Wreckers in the first place, and the concept of a non-combatant facing that reaver and surviving, let alone _winning_, is impossible to fathom. You are a testament to Autobot determination and resourcefulness, the only thing immortalized in your continued operation is the virtue of good's triumph over evil!"

Cosmos considered making a motion to argue with the Prime, but thought better of it. He wanted to believe the words that the courageous mech had honored him with, but he couldn't. Optimus hadn't been there, he had. He knew of the fear that had inhabited his spark and made him cower like a Neutral. He remembered the pain that filled Moonracer's optics and the only way he could relieve her suffering was to butcher her. He was not a heroic Autobot, not a brave mech, and he wished Optimus would stop seeing only the best and see him for what he was, a failure.

An open hand offered to help him to his feet, Cosmos almost refused the Prime, but then he would have to struggle to stand on his own. With help, he slowly rose to his feet, his heavy frame unstable in the loose sand. "You are welcome to join my ranks again," Optimus stated. The scientist didn't know why anyone would want him, but he had nowhere else to go.

_**XxxX**_

"Everything!?"

"Well, most everything. I'm sure a human somewhere had an original idea that lead to something, not based off of Cybertronian technology."

Catherine paced across the limited space that was Sideswipe's recharge bunk. She was in shock. The knowledge that the government had contained and studied the massive Decepticon leader was outrageous, but coupled with the fact that almost every piece of modern technology was somehow related to the Cybertronians was mind blowing. All of modern human history was going to have to be rewritten. Did Nikola Tesla stand at the foot of the frozen mech and envision his infamous Tesla coils? Did Henry Ford design the internal combustion engine from the Decepticon's pump? What about Bill Gates and his global empire? These people were heralded as geniuses, men that revolutionized the modern world with their independent creativity and forward thinking. Now, were they nothing more than charlatans, thieves stealing ideas and parts from an advanced being? Pulling out her Blackberry, she showed it to the mech before her. It chimed and she glanced at it, the text had one word, "Yup". Her knees gave out and she would have collapsed had an enormous hand not kept her from tottering over.

"And that mechanoid…Cosmos, which arrived at the landing; he was being held at Area 51, and they were doing the same to him? Doesn't this anger you that one of your own was tortured so mankind could have microwavable popcorn?" she asked, disgusted with her own species.

The bark of laughter was not what she had been expecting. "Naw. Whenever we Cybertronians encounter Quintessons, we strip them and their ships of anything new or useful after deactivating them. It's a nice way to keep the rift-raft out of our sectors and a practical way to grab new technologies. The down side is that they'd do the same to us given a chance."

She was going to ask what a Quintesson was when a single, overhead light flared on blinding her momentarily. Blinking through stinging tears, she saw this Autobot's quarters for the first time, the dim wattage of the safety light cast it in an odd yellow hue and ominously deep shadows. On the wall across from them was another bunk and the far wall was lined with shelves that held an unusual assortment of junk. "Hey, the back up generators are finally on. About damn time too," the red Lamborghini, stated bluntly.

The door to the room hissed open and a glaring vision of yellow stepped in. The mech walked over to the far wall and started rifling through a pile of what appeared to be magazines. The new comer's head snapped up and he spun around; instinctively, Catherine sought shelter behind one of Sideswipe's arms.

"What is that doing in here?" the brightly painted Autobot snapped. In three long strides, he covered the distance to her and lifted her protector's arm. Arctic blue optics glowed murderously down at her and Catherine did everything she could not to shake.

"Sunny, meet Catherine Cutter. Catherine, this is Sunstreaker, my brother." She just waved, unsure how badly, her voice would tremble.

Sunstreaker let go of his brother's arm and started yelling, the sound was deafening and she had to cover her ears. "Are you short circuiting? Have you finally blown out your processor bringing her in here:? Primus, what is it with you and human femmes anyways? They…Are…Disgusting."

The last comment brought both the reporter and the red Autobot to their feet. "I'm not disgusting!" she yelled.

"Hey, I was going to try and interface with her. Thanks for blowing it." Sides snapped, standing nose to nose with his twin.

The other mech smile coldly, narrowing is optics. "Humans are disgusting. They shed billions of cells a day. They secrete some sort of protein-based mucus from every orifice. Their external covering has bacteria, hair and oils all over it. They eat other life forms. They excrete waste byproducts, and if they aren't regularly bathed, they stink."

Sideswipe just shrugged. "Yeah, so. It isn't like we are ever going to get a chance with one of our own femmes, or have you failed to notice that there is only one of them left, and she isn't likely to favor us?"

"I don't secrete mucus!" Catherine shouted with indignation. The two Autobots ignored her.

"Primus, Sides'. Is interfacing all you ever think about? I think you would have hooked yourself up to that Quintesson back at the port on Tregoris, had you thought it was a femme."

"That's ridiculous, Quintessons don't have femmes…do they?"

"And another thing, if you're going to try and break the species barrier, at least pick an attractive one…" Sunstreaker never finished his tirade. His brother tackled him and the ringing sound of metal impacting metal filled the air. Catherine quickly moved as far away from the fighting mechs as she could, curling into the smallest target she could as she watched the two titans duke it out in tight quarters. The clamorous noise that they were producing had to be echoing and alerting someone to the situation. For the first time in years she prayed, and prayed that someone would find her before one of these overgrown 'rock'em-sock'em-robots' crushed her.

Her prayers were answered when the door opened and a black and white mech stepped into the room. He moved so quickly she barely registered the word "POLICE" on his door panels. _Yea, it's the po-po _her panic addled mind thought on its own. The new Autobot was as silent as death when he grabbed Sideswipe and threw him off of his brother. The red mech landed scant feet from where she was and it appeared that he was twisting in an attempt to avoid her. Catherine wondered if his yellow brother would have been so kind. Glancing between gaps in the scarlet armor, she caught glances of the black and white police car slamming Sunstreaker against the wall face first and pinning his arms. The restrained mech was literally hissing in rage as the struggled to get free.

Over the moan of strained gears and metal, she could hear the native language of these huge living machines. It sounded like fluctuating static interlaced with clicks and tones, and it took her a few seconds to realize the sound was coming from the unknown mechanoid. She had no idea what he was saying, but it caused Sideswipe to visibly blanch and start chattering. As she watched, he cautiously approached the two struggling mechs while continuously talking. He laid his hands on this brother and seemed to be pleading with the black and white one. For what seemed like an eternity, the three of them stayed this way, the two Autobots attempting to calm the other one.

Finally, Sunstreaker was released, though to her eyes he didn't look very subdued at the moment, and the air in the enclosed space crackled with volatile energy.

"Please Prowl, don't. It was my fault." The pleading words came from Sideswipe and it took her a few moments to understand that it really was English she was hearing. The one called Prowl just looked at the red Autobot; his face an unreadable mask, then he turned to where she was curled in the corner of the bunk, and held a hand out to her.

"Get on," he barked in a tone that discouraged any argument. With cautious shaky steps, she approached him and climbed into his hand. The mech then lifted her close to his chest as one would do while holding a baby bird, before addressing the two brothers; "You are confined to your quarters, until the Prime decides what to do about your current and numerous infractions." He scowled down at her. "And you will have an audience with the Prime now." She thought of jumping out of his hand, but looking down gave her a minor case of vertigo and she shimmied closer to the mech's chest. Apparently, she was finally going to meet Optimus Prime.

As the door closed behind them, Catherine could hear shouted insults and the occasional clang of metal hitting metal. "Glitch."

"Your progenitor was a Junkion."

"We have the same creator you dumb fucker."

"Asshole."

"You shouldn't have gone there…"

Addressing the Autobot Prowl she asked, "Are they going to kill each other?"

Without the slightest trace of humor he answered, "One can only hope."

_**XxxX**_

Optimus stared at the woman sitting on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Of all of the stupid, idiotic, glitching, suicidal… _hearing the door to his office open he stopped his train of thought and pushed it away. His mate stepped in carrying a food tray in her hand. Velocity sat it on the table in front of the woman and took a seat opposite him.

The dark haired woman glanced back and forth between them. "The last meal for the condemned?" the reporter asked with false bravado.

His crimson femme responded before he could. "Nope, that would make things _too _easy."

"Velocity!" he snapped, and winced; she had done nothing to deserve his ire. He stroked their bond in an attempt to placate her and felt her humor in response. At least someone wasn't angry with him at the moment, but given her temper that could change any astrosecond. Turning his attention to the annoyance, he addressed the woman, "Why did you feel it was necessary to attempt to sneak onto the base? You were given a way to contact me, wouldn't that have been simpler?"

In between bites, Catherine Cutter answered him. "I told you, I wanted my equipment back. That bastard, Simmons took it and all of the footage of the landing." Optimus knew she was lying to him, he just wasn't sure where the lie ended and the truth began.

"That sounds about like Reggie; he'd confiscate his own Grand mama's dentures if he thought he could get away with it," Velocity quipped. The woman smiled at the comment and Optimus tried to figure out why anyone would want an elderly person's dental implants. That was probably one of those things best not pondered, like why the woman was in the twins' quarters to begin with. The only answers he had been able to formulate were…unsettling. He shifted his thoughts away from the risqué and focused on how to best prevent this from happening again. Within seconds, he had a list of regulations that should discourage any similar future behavior. Feeling a bit better that one minute issue had been dealt with, he looked over at his crimson and copper mate and came to the crashing conclusion that he had violated every edict he had just thought up. He raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose some more.

::What can I do?:: the femme asked over their personal comm. line.

Prime felt the concern she had for him, and it lifted his sinking spirits a little. It was nice to know that someone cared. ::Perhaps make some room in your _busy_ schedule for me.:: The dark laugh that danced to his audios told him that at least their recharge time would be an enjoyable diversion.

The door to his office opened with an ominous hiss and Prowl stepped in, his optics flittering across the data pad in hand. "Sir, I have contacted agent Simmons. Fortunately, he has not destroyed the human's filming equipment; unfortunately, he is refusing to release it. The Governor of Nevada is furious and demands to speak with you personally. The power surge has blown out relays and the entire state is without power. Las Vegas and Reno have declared martial law along with forty other municipalities. The military has been called in and they are pulling heavily from us, and Nellis Air force Base. Parts of Southern California are also without power and _that _Governor is demanding answers. Secretary of Defense Keller has called. His only comment was, and I quote, 'What the Hell? Optimus better have a good explanation…never mind, I'm coming out there,' and he terminated the connection. He is due to arrive in six Terran hours. The twins are still waiting to hear what disciplinary actions you have for them. Might I suggest…"

Optimus stopped his Second in Command in mid sentence. "Prowl, do you have any good news?" he asked with a sigh.

"No, Sir." came the too candid reply.

Prime took a few minutes to mull things over. "Assign as many as you deem prudent, to assist the humans with restoring their power grid. Leave Ironhide and Cosmos here. I do not want to be without my best warrior, and the scientist still requires time to recover from his injuries." Glancing at the reporter, Optimus chose his words carefully. It wasn't that he was afraid that sensitive information might leak out; it was just that he knew that this human could raise a rally cry against them, and was scrutinizing all of their actions. "Make sure they understand that they are to assist in any way possible, including finding food for the humans when necessary…"

"Optimus, I don't mean to interrupt, but you have gotta explain a few things to the new guys," the voice belonging to Captain Lennox echoed from somewhere near Prowl's feet. Prime motioned to his Second-In-Command and the Autobot bent to pick the man up and set him on the desk. Catherine was a flurry of activity as she straightened her clothes, attempted to tame the lose strands of her hair and shifted her pose to something, he guessed would be seen as more alluring. The smirk on his mate's face told him his assessment of the reporter's behavior was…accurate. Optimus wondered if he could deny the woman contact with anything that appeared male, or would the humans frown upon that? Typically, the breeding habits of other species were not something he concerned himself with… unless they lead directly to difficulties for him.

"Captain, I would like to address your concerns right now, but I have some very pressing issues to contend with," he stated flatly.

The soldier nodded in sympathy. "I understand, I really do, but some of the new guys have said a few things that pissed my men off. I have calmed things down by explaining that they were just simple questions and to give them some time to process our culture."

A long tired sigh could be heard escaping the exhaust vents of the Prime. "What happened?" By his voice, it was evident that the great mech didn't want to know what had occurred.

"Mirage wanted to know if Sergeant Fredrickson's wife was his chosen concubine or a 'spoil-of-war', then another started talking like a bad rapper when he saw Sergeant Epps. Epps ignored it, but a few others were pretty offended."

Optimus frowned in confusion until a short comm. message from his mate made things all too clearer. He rubbed his hand over his face and wondered if he could be blessed with a few moments of astounding insight to find solutions to all of these problems. Deep in his spark, he knew that even if he took the time to access the wisdom of the Matrix, it would remain infuriatingly silent on any issue dealing with the idiosyncrasies of human beings. It was his trusted SIC that saw a clear path through the brambles of interspecies interactions. "Sir, according to the Specifications and Skills Roster, Velocity has been serving as your Cultural Expert. May I suggest the prudence of having one knowledgeable in the ways of other races help the newer Autobots adjust to life on Earth, and to do so before they assist our…hosts with the repairs."

A quick glance let him know that Prowl's idea had been about as well received as sucrose in a fuel line, but slaggit if it wasn't a good idea. The femme was the best option; she could read humans like data charts and had a lifetime of experience she could impart…then there was the issue of those blazing green optics that had narrowed to dangerous slits, and the fact that he had to recharge with her. Sending a hesitant caress along their bond, he found it wasn't well received. He did note that it had taken longer than an astrosecond for her to turn hostile; that was an improvement. Ignoring her infuriation, he searched her emotions a little deeper and stumbled upon cold fear. That didn't surprise him, he had felt her anxiety rise when Prowl stepped into the room, and now she was going to have to be in a room surrounded by larger and more power mechs she didn't know yet. "Velocity, I would like you to see what you could do to… lessen any misunderstandings between us and the humans." In a comm. only to her, he added, ::Please. We will discuss this later, but I would like your help::

He didn't receive any response other than a curt nod of the head as the scarlet femme stood and made to leave the room. She was mad, but she wasn't having a fit about it. He didn't know whether to be relived or scared for his life, but he did have another duty he was going to assign her. "And Velocity, could you please escort Miss Cutter to suitable quarters for now." Another silent nod from his mate and she held out both of her hands to the woman.

Catherine just turned back to him. "What about my equipment?" she huffed.

"I assure you I shall do everything I can to have it returned to you, but right now, please, accept my hospitality. We will make sure you are well looked after until we can return you to your home. I would do so now, but with the power outage, this is the only way I can guarantee your safety."

"So I am to stay here until the power is on? That could take days!" the woman stated obviously.

"Yes, it could, now if you'll excuse us I have pressing matters I must attend to." He watched as the femme carefully scooped the fuming woman into her hands and headed out of his office. The shrill complaints that Catherine was making faded from his audios as the two of them left the room. He didn't want to burden Velocity with the reporter, but given the woman's track record, his mate was the only one he thought he could trust with her. Captain Lennox also motioned to be allowed to leave, stating that he had to get back to his men and keep them from using one of the Autobots as a small arms target.

Within a few minutes, Prime and Prowl were staring at each other from across the expanse of a desk. The SIC's posture was still rigid and he had a look of endless patience. Optimus sighed; the fact that the dedicated mech hadn't returned to his post still meant that there was a topic needing discussion. "Yes, Prowl."

The mech seemed at a loss for words for a few astroseconds. "Sir, I am not sure if this is a good time to bring up such an issue."

Prime waved his hand absently. "What is it?"

"I was glancing over the room assignments and I noticed that Velocity was assigned to your quarters," Prowl stated in curt tones. Optimus gave the other mech a long look. "I was wondering, for security reasons, if this is a permanent arrangement."

The Autobot commander leaned back in his chair and took the full measure of this most trusted officer. "I believe that it is a permanent arrangement, and it is a security risk." In shielded words, he had told Prowl the nature of his and Velocity's relationship, and in those same words, the officer knew that absolute secrecy was their best defense.

_**XxxX**_

**Important A/N: **H. Ford did not invent the internal combustion engine. It was perfected over a stretch of time by Nikolaus Otto, Gottieb Daimler, Karl Benz, Wilhelm Maybach, and several others. Tesla should be better noted for his alternating current motor, which is in almost every appliance today, instead of his Tesla Coils. And don't get us started on B. Gates. Catherine is showing her ignorance, not the authors.

Also the "humans are disgusting" was inspired by IDWs Escalation. I just ran with Sunstreaker's comments in part 1 of the comic.

To **Novamyth **~ And now you know…. Cosmos is all on Benjamin, that is his baby and he is in charge of that development. We are glad you are enjoying it. To **Ladyofthebookworms** ~ The idea of Wheeljack doing anything is ripe for humor. He is a walking disaster. A perv is a perv, no matter the planet. To **thepheonixqueen** ~ Thank you. We have about 3 really cruddy chapters to move though to tie up ends and roll towards the crux of the plot. Nice to hear from you, I hope you are staying safe and secure in that hell hole you are stuck in. To **TheRavenQueen** ~ Thank you. Sides just wants some luvin'. To **Punk Autobot **~ Engineering, ick. Go for Underwater Basket Weaving, you can't make any money at it, but it is easier. Sides' has issues, he was neglected as a sparkling. Not really, but it sounds good. Cosmos does have issues, he is not well. To Acerbus321 ~ Thank you very very much. we aim to please.

A special thank you to all that have placed us on alerts and favorites list. Comment, crit (we love crits) it feeds the creative spark and strokes our egos. We don't bite, well I don't bite. I can't speak for Benjamin.


	21. Seeking Enlightenment

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co- authored with **Benjamin Bradt**. Seriously, people ya'll have no idea how different and short this would have been without him. Beta read by **Okami-myrrhibis, **without her talents, it would look like a troll wrote part of this.

_**XxxX**_

_**Seeking Enlightenment**_

_**XxxX**_

"I will not be your prisoner! You can't do this to me! I have rights!"

Velocity stopped in the corridor and looked down at the woman cradled in her hands. The yelling had started once they were in the hallway and Catherine realized that she really wasn't going to get to leave. The femme had reached her tolerance level and the screeching was starting to make her audios ring. "Would you shut up before I clap my hands together?"

The threat was enough to stop the torrent of complaints and demands from the reporter. Miss Cutter had her arms folded over her chest and was attempting to stare the fourteen foot tall femme down. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say; especially coming from the Autobot's supposed Cultural Expert." The woman's voice held scathing sarcasm and was meant to hurt.

"Listen, this isn't the Country Club, so stuff your civil rights and 'I'm an American Citizen' bullshit, and pay attention you ungrateful little snot." Velocity snarled. If Miss Cutter wanted to play 'Who's-the-Biggest-Bitch', then she would play too…and win. "I don't care if you have Michael Coors as your best friend and he dresses you every morning, but the power is out state-wide and night is coming. You live in Vegas right?" Velocity didn't wait for an answer; she already knew it. "What do you think it is going to be like tonight in the place known as Sin City? Do you think your home security system will save you…oh, wait, that runs off electricity and you don't have any. There won't be any lights to chase away the shadows, or secure the gates to your complex to keep out the 'unwanted elements' of society. Optimus is trying to keep you safe and out of harms way until order can be restored. The least you can do is show a little gratitude. So sorry that the Autobot base isn't the Ritz-Carlton, but you will be safe here and can go home later. Stop carrying on like a menstruating school girl and be content that your situation isn't permanent…" The femme muted her vocals before she ranted on too much. There were some aspects about her life that she could not talk about.

The woman looked away and Velocity continued towards her destination; frustration and anger rolled off her and hung in the air; a fog of indignation was left in her wake. It wasn't just that she had to contend with the reporter. Oh, that irked her plenty; it was that Optimus knew she didn't want the title of Cultural Expert hanging over her head, and he forced her into the position anyways. She might know about humans, but she wasn't an expert. She didn't have formal education or training to pull from, just her own observations and experiences. He was pinning their relations with the humans on her and she resented it. She didn't want the responsibility, nor the headache. Her thoughts bitterly turned to a time when she was a small, flesh bound woman, similar to the one sitting in her hands. Once she worried about money, or being found out for the freak she once was. That was easy, compared to this. _This_ was a race's future hanging in the balance and their leader thought that it was a great…wonderful…smashing idea to have her initiate the newbies. How did she wind up in this mess?

"So are things hard for you being the only Cybertronian female on the planet?" the reporter asked. That was not the question that Velocity wanted to hear. "_Where are we going or where can I get a pedicure?_" would have been easier to deal with. She didn't want to become the feature on some news special. She didn't have any desire to spill the troubles of her soul to someone who would only show them to the world. She had a class to teach and she had no clue how to go about it, nor did she even want to, but she would because _he _asked.

Stopping in the middle of the hall, she closed her optic shutters and cycled her vents. When she opened them again, she saw a dark vestige stomping towards her, and came up with a quick plan to dump some of her problems. Twisting her face into a small smile, she gave the larger mech a courteous nod and acted as if everything was right in the world. It earned her a suspicious look, but nothing more. As she passed her victim, she turned and deftly placed the woman on Ironhide's shoulder, then with a few prancing skips was well out the weapons specialist's reach

The change in the massive Autobot was instantaneous. The moment a fleshy foot touched him, he stiffened, a hand reaching up to secure the woman and keep her from falling. "What the…Velocity! Get this off me!"

Walking backwards away from the startled mech, she wanted considerable distance between the two of them… just in case. "Nope, she's yours now," she replied cheekily. Turning, she walked away from one problem and doubted she could get out of the other one so easily.

_**XxxX**_

Leaning against the wall, she counted to ten. It didn't work, she still wanted to run and hide. Twisting slightly so she could peer into the room Velocity shuddered at the thought of having to address the mechs that were assembled in there as their chatter rose and fell in pattern to whatever they were discussing amongst them selves. Occasional laughter echoed out of the conference room and into the hallway. Apparently, Optimus had never stumbled across the statistic that ranks the fear of public speaking above the fear of death; mix that with a her healthy mechagoraphobia and any cybernetic idiot could understand why she had been standing in the corridor for the past hour wishing for the world to end. Pressing her back against the wall once more, she shuttered her optics and tried to will her anxiety away.

The soft whine of gears in motion caught her attention and she looked to see who had caught her in the throws of a near-panic attack; the bold patches of black and white made her yelp. Casting her optics downward she deeply cycled her vents in an attempt to calm her racing pump.

"The Prime has explained that you were almost terminated by Barricade and that it was only by the Grace of Primus that Ratchet was able to repair the damage to your systems. I can assure you that I am not him, thought we share some similarities in form and preferred coloration. It would be easier for you to learn to trust me, and as far as I am concerned, that particular Decepticon is functioning on borrowed time." The words were spoken in a clipped, no nonsense manner while the mech's cool blue optics bore into her, noting every little twitch and movement she made.

"Optimus told you what happened?" she asked with more than a hint of skepticism in her voice while not looking at the mech. Maybe if she pretended that it was 'Bee she was talking to…

She glanced sideways; her mate's Second-In-Command stood ramrod straight and smartly clasped his hands behind his back. "Prime stated that you were on patrol in Tranquility when you crossed paths with the shock trooper. You should consider yourself fortunate; few survive such an encounter without lasting damage."

_And you have been completely lied to _Velocity thought to herself when she realized Optimus had twisted the truth to protect her secret. As far as one of his closest officers was concerned, she was just another mechanoid. "Um…Thank you?" was the only thing she could think to say that would continue the charade.

Prowl cocked his head to the side and gave her a curious look. "The Prime also asked me to come here and see how the class was coming along. He commented that you might try and 'worm your way out of it'." The last part was stated as if the mech was repeating from memory and had absolutely no clue as the meaning of the term. She narrowed her optics slightly. Her bonded's choice of words and actions was starting to infuriate her. Not only did he force her into giving this asinine lecture, without warning, he was so concerned that she would fail miserably he sent his right-hand-mech to check up on her. Anger reared its venomous head and chased away her fear.

Shifting her facial plates into a cold smile, she squared her shoulders and addressed Prowl. "Nope, I'm not going to 'worm' out of anything, just needed some time to prepare." Turning on her toes, she sashayed confidently into the room.

She didn't have to push her way through the crowd of Cybertronians; when she got close enough for her energy field to brush against another's, the mech would swiftly step out of the way. She didn't enjoy the sensation, but she knew that they were feeling her ire and were more than willing to step aside. Then the realization occurred, she just had a major insight to some of the social nuances of the Cybertronians. Quickly storing that bit of information away, she made note to ask Optimus about it, if she ever decided to speak to him again. As she took her place at the back of the room, she addressed the metallic throng. "Welcome to Earth 101." The echoing silence was not the response she had expected.

No one moved, and Velocity was waiting for a cricket to start chirping. Her first joke had died an immediate death and what little false confidence she had slipped away rapidly. In her head, she called her mate every foul name she could thing of and a few that she had just been inspired to invent.

"Ok…" she started anew with a meek tremble in her voice. "I'll tell you guys what. I won't waste your time explaining plate tectonics, evolution or the Nelson Ratings; all of which you can Google or Yahoo in your spare time, and you all just ignore the fact that I have no clue what I am doing." That earned her a couple of chuckles and one mech gave her a thumb's up and a warm smile…Hound; his name was Hound. At least there was one friendly face in the bunch. Paying more attention to the Autobots in attendance, she realized she recognized several of them. There was Mr. Wavy from the Ark; he now had an Earth alt mode and was covered in armor as red as hers. She saw a bulky silver-green shape attempting to fade into the corner; for such a dramatic entrance, Cosmos seemed rather meek and unassuming. At least he was up and around. The twins were off to the side and that didn't make her feel any better, they typically brought nothing but trouble. There was a long slender mech with a haughty expression. The red and blue Cybertronian standing with Hound seemed watchful and quiet. There was a large 'Bot almost the same height as Prime, but with a dour expression like he hated life in general. There were a couple of others she didn't know, one of which was so large he almost had to duck his head to keep it from bumping the ceiling. Damn, he was big. She had to strain her neck to look up at him. These mechs were allies to Optimus and she told her self that over and over. Gathering her thoughts, she decided to just wing it and use her cynicism to her advantage.

"Welcome to Earth or as most like to pronounce it 'Urf'. What can someone tell me about humans?" she asked.

"They are little and easy to squish," chimed Sideswipe. She couldn't help but smile, at least he was predictable.

"Sides', _don't _help," she said and some of the assembled group chuckled.

"Humans talk a lot," Mr. Wavy stated as he twitched with excitement.

"Yes, they do talk a lot, and sometimes they actually have something to say. What's your name?" she asked the red mech and he acted like he had just been shocked.

"Cliffjumper," he stated proudly as he jerked with barely contained energy.

Velocity shook her head. "Well, Cliffjumper, I think your timing belt is a little tight and you need to see Ratchet later." That had most of the audience laughing and the smaller red mech seemed decidedly embarrassed, but he was smiling. She relaxed a little and tried to enjoy herself.

"They come in two types, mech and femme…Smokescreen," said a blue and red mech in a soft voice as he nodded politely.

She corrected him. "Yes, but they are called male and female."

"They are a vastly inferior species and do not deserve the respect that we have been gracing them with." The comment had an immediate affect on everyone. Several of the mechs narrowed their optics and glared at the speaker, while some of the others tried to move away from him. Velocity was in shock.

"Ex…excuse me?" she stammered.

"I stated that humans are inferior to Cybertronians and this dirt clot that they live on should be beneath our notice. Once a shuttle arrives, we will be leaving this world and its primate inhabitants behind; therefore, I see little reason to be forced into in learning about them," a long, slender mech moved to stand in front of her. She studied him closely, from his metallic blue coloring to his arrogant sphinx-like face. He bent at the waist to close the distance and intimidate her.

She rose on her tiptoes to make sure he understood she couldn't be bullied. "If you don't like it here, leave, and let the door hit you in the aft on the way out."

The thin mech acted like he was going say something else when the sturdy shape of Cosmos came into her view. The stocky mech placed one green palm against the narrow mech's chest and shoved him back. "Rivet your vocal emitter, Mirage!" The short Bot's English was remarkably fluid, considering that he'd only been active a short time. "Whether or not you like the inhabitants of the Earth, the Prime has ordered us to familiarize ourselves to their ways, and the femme…Velocity, has been nice enough to instruct us, so curb your Decepticon-like candor and throttle back." Cosmos was not in anyway attempting to hide the warning in his voice.

"Ah, Cosmos," Mirage glowered sourly down at the shorter 'Bot. "While we're on the subject of this backwater little mud ball and its primate inhabitants, let us stop and consider the fantastic arrival of our 'communications specialist'. I hear that the monkeys are still tallying the corpses from your rapid evacuation from their military installation; so tell me, slaughtering the indigenous life forms, how satisfying was it?"

"Nowhere near as satisfying as this…" Cosmos' fist hit Mirage in the dead center of his chest with a resoundingly solid 'wham', sending the skinny spy flat onto his back. The green and silver mech moved to pounce on his antagonist. Without thinking, Velocity yelled and lunged at the two combatants to try to pull them apart, but quickly found Smokescreen's arms wrapped around her waist. "Easy there. Let the bigger 'bots sort this out," he whispered in her audios. Prowl came tearing into the room like someone had set his fuel tank on fire and grappled with Cosmos. The sound of straining gears filled the air as the tactician lifted the decidedly heaver mech off his target. Hound dragged Mirage to his feet and wouldn't let him go.

The SIC nodded to the tracker, who released his hold, and Prowl led the stout Autobot out into the hall. "Were it up to me, I'd have you in a dark hole until I figured out what the frag was glitching in your processor!"

"I apologize, sir." Cosmos hung his head, "I'm not sure what came over me."

"As it stands, Prime has informed me of your unstable condition, so I will not make a spectacle of this little...outburst. Instead, I expect you to go to Ratchet immediately for examination."

"Understood sir," Cosmos turned and started down the long hallway. _Unstable?_ The communications specialist placed his arms behind his back as best he could, a gesture of reflection that he had seen both Perceptor and Optimus do for vorns, although their more narrow bodies allowed for the movement. _Is that what this is about? Does Orion think I'm in need of special treatment for what happened on Titan?_ He sent a message to Wheeljack, informing him of his status; Ratchet might not indulge his curiosity, but the engineer was not one to trifle with trivialities like personal privacy or rules.

Mirage stalked out of the room. The cold, hard glares from the others sent him a silent message; he was not welcome. Velocity was pissed. The problem was that she didn't know who to be pissed at; turning to what was left of her students, she addressed them in a no-nonsense tone. "Alright, the fun and games are over. Let's wrap this up. I'm gonna tell you everything that you need to know about humans, and I will only say things once so pay attention… There are almost seven million of them on this planet and each and every one of them is a unique individual with a unique sense of self. Any particular person's sense of self or identity is created by their gender, age, race, ethnicity, religion, morals, ethics, social economic status, education level, family background, sexual orientation, hobbies, job, spouse, whether they have children or not, where they live, who their friends are, what car they drive, do they rent or own, what kind of pet they have, what football team they like and a hundred other seemingly unimportant aspects." With every item listed she tapped her fingers like she was counting. "The problem is that at _any _given time at least half the world's population is disgusted or enraged by _any _given part of _any _individual's identity…."

As the Velocity continued with her speech a solitary mech stood just outside of the doorway listening; his arms crossed over his chest, head hung in thought. Mirage had stormed past him without pause, not that that was unusual; the aristocrat barely acknowledged those he deemed to be lesser, regardless of rank. Prime wasn't going to like the report he had to deliver; Mirage was up to his usual hateful tricks and appeared to have found a target in the femme. Then there was Cosmos's out of character aggression towards the spy. Lost in his thoughts, Prowl didn't hear his commander approach.

"How are things going?" the Prime asked him.

Snapping to attention the tactician responded. "Not well; I'll have my report on your desk within the cycle. You were correct about the Cultural Expert. She was apprehensive, so I said what you told me to and her mood changed dramatically."

Optimus clasped his hands behind his back as he started down the corridor. "Hmm. I figured as much. Now, to find a way get my aft out of _that_ trouble."

_**XxxX**_

He stood in stark contrast to the drab, dusty landscape that surrounded him; the sun glittered off of this polished armor and seemed to set him ablaze. As he watched, a small spec in the cloudless sky slowly grew into the shape of a Blackhawk helicopter. The machine's rotors thumped against the air, stirring up swirling clouds of debris that pelted his armor and lodged in his hundreds of gears.

Optimus was not looking forward to this meeting and that was a shame. Normally, he enjoyed visits from the Secretary of Defense; once their business was done, they would sit for hours and talk about trivialities. He knew all about Keller's childhood in Oregon and his marriage to Marsha Keller; Prime loved to just talk to the man. It was an un-obscured insight into the complexities of the human race. Also, Optimus just liked to talk to beings and get to know them on a personal level. Unfortunately, this trip would not be so pleasant. This meeting was bound to strain their friendship and test both sides' resolve to continue to work together in harmony.

The wheels of the 'copter bounced and then came to a rest on the tarmac and the Prime of Cybertron cycled his vents and mentally prepared himself to possibly have to negotiate for the life of one of his own. Before the rotors stopped turning, door slid open and Secretary of Defense John Keller stepped out and instinctively ducked to avoid the lethal blades that spun above his head. Following the statesman was a dark haired man with a thick mustache. Metal facial plated knitted together on a frown, Optimus had not been informed that Tom Banachek would be arriving. This changed a few things.

The men hurried towards him and it was Keller that addressed him. "We have some serious problems that need to be discussed." Prime just nodded and lead the way.

_**XxxX**_

The tension in the room was oppressive; it hung in the air like a fine mist, making the three allies hesitant and overly cautious. He could see the stiff postures of the humans, their faces tight and their hands clapped before them in matching closed gestures. He tried to keep his stance open and unintimidating; too much was at stake to inadvertently antagonize the Secretary of Defense or Tom Banachek.

For long minutes, neither side made a move; Optimus was glad he had ignored Prowl's arguments, and chose to be the only Cybertronian in the room. If things turned into a slagging pile of rust, he would be the only one burdened with the guilt. Keller poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher that sat on the conference table. Optimus watched as a bead of condensation slowly, and with increasing speed, rolled down the side of the crystal vessel. He felt a surreal kinship with the water droplet, the soft lull that he and his mechs had been enjoying was going to come to an end and with ever increasing momentum that none of them could control, they would be back at war. He knew in the depth of his spark, that darkness and despair was going to reenter their lives, he just didn't know when or exactly in what form.

Secretary Keller leaned back in his chair, the tip of a finger rubbing along his lower lip, tired eyes searching…him. Finally, the suffocating silence was broken. Banachek opened a plain file and asked, "Has N.B.E…I apologize…Has Cosmos, regained awareness yet?" Optimus caught the slip. He had made it clear that they didn't like having the humans number them like drones, and for their part, the humans were trying to remember that, but old habits died hard. He let the faux pas slide; it was a minor thing.

"Yes. Cosmos is online and I had to inform him of his involvement. He seemed somewhat unaware of his actions at the time, and was appalled at the thought of harming so many." It was the truth. The scientist was disgusted by his actions and felt that he needed to serve retribution for them.

Prime watched as the two men visibly relaxed. Apparently, they had been concerned about the Autobot's response as well. It was Keller that addressed him. "Are you implying that he doesn't remember what he did?"

Blinking his optic shutters, Optimus cocked his head to the side a little. "I am not implying that, I am stating that Cosmos has limited memories of what occurred within The Groom Lake Facility. Gentlemen, you must understand that he has suffered sever trauma due to events that took place just before he made Earth-fall. His team had been massacred by a Decepticon known as Sharkticon. This particular…monstrosity had a knack for literally cannibalizing other mechs. He would consume their energon and spark cores to fuel his own and then he would rip the deceased apart to acquire any augmentations he deemed useful." Prime paused to allow the full meaning of his words to affect the men. He was rewarded with wide-eyed shock; he didn't have to elaborate any further, not that he wanted to. "Through bravery and creativity, Cosmos was able to destroy his antagonist, but he himself was severely damaged and fell into stasis lock. As to what happened while he was in the custody of the United States, I can only guess at, and do not wish to do so. Over time, some of his energy levels increased and something happened to give him the fuel necessary to activate his higher programs and come online. It is my opinion that he registered the distress beacon from the Ark at the same moment that he realized he was being cut apart and panicked…"

"…Tearing apart everything in his path to reach you," Keller stated quietly. Optimus nodded slowly. The elder statesman shook his head. "If that had been a human soldier, he or she would have been heralded as a hero."

"I do consider him a hero. All of the mechs that have stood to fight the onslaught of the Decepticons are heroes, each in their own ways. Cosmos is one of the gentlest 'Bots I have ever met. He lives to explore other worlds and learn about other species. His bravery doesn't come from his willingness to destroy the enemy, but from the lengths he will go to, to get the job done. He will go out of his way to protect life, and he is an old friend. I know him well." Prime waited to see what the men would do. He hoped that they would hear his silent plea.

Keller nodded to Banachek who pulled a thick file out of his briefcase and laid it on the table. Turning the document stamped "Top Secret", he slid them forwards. "This is all of the information the Air Force had on the Area 51 UFO. You have full access to the documents to read for yourself. You will notice that on September twenty-sixth, nineteen eighty-eight, Sector Seven decreed that the spacecraft was not of the same origin as the Iceman and should be classified differently." Optimus carefully reached out and opened the cover of the file, his optics gazing over the information. With surgical precision, he turned the page and continued reading.

"This Sharkticon; he actually ate other Cybertronians?" Keller asked with some revulsion in his voice.

Prime continued to read as he answered the Secretary's question. "He consumed their sparks. My scientists theorized that that was the only way he could obtain enough energy to power all of his modifications."

"But you are basically machines. You can change and add onto your forms as you see fit, correct?" Tom had asked. Optimus was aware that there were glaring holes in what the government did not know about his people, and some of those holes needed to remain unfilled, but others were harmless enough.

"We are limited to the number and types of modifications we can perform to our bodies by many factors. Heavy armor inhibits speed. Larger weapons consume more energy. Flight capabilities literally take an entire overhaul. Each upgrade costs us something in return. What Sharkticon did was find a way to cheat. He upgraded so much that normal energy sources were inadequate and had to find an alternative."

"Normal energy sources?" Again, Banachek was asking the question. Optimus had forgotten that the man had a scientific mind and was very curious.

He had made it about half way through the stack of papers; by his estimate there were over a thousand pages, and he wanted to read them all before he continued to negotiate. Answering the question only took a small portion of his processor and kept the humans occupied. "Most of us prefer energon, but some of our number have the abilities to utilize other sources. For example, Bumblebee has receptors to convert solar radiation into a usable energy, and Cosmos has specialized chambers to process atmospheric gases. Allowing for both of them to be able to maintain top functioning levels for several eons without an energon supply."

"Gases, like liquid nitrogen?" Optimus looked up from his study to see a look of epitome on Banachek's face.

"Yes. Liquid nitrogen would be especially to Cosmos's liking."

"That explains why they were unable to subdue him."

"Let me guess, the people at Groom Lake attempted to freeze Cosmos?" The dark-haired man nodded slowly. Prime sighed. "You cannot incapacitate Cosmos as you did Bumblebee and Megatron. And the only reason you were successful with Megatron was because he was in such poor condition to begin with. Had he been at full strength, I doubt we would be having this conversation right now." Closing the back cover of the folder, the commander of the Autobots was satisfied. He saw no evidence that the government thought that Cosmos was anything but a ship from a non-Cybertronian race. He was deeply relieved. They could move forward. "It appears that the… researchers at Area 51 did not know they had a Cybertronian and neither did you."

"It appears that mistakes have been made on both sides, and we would like to do everything within our power to prevent such inaccuracies from happening again. Once this meeting is adjourned, I will have every Top Secret Project opened to see if any of them contain anything of possible alien origin. Any that do shall be passed along to you, but Optimus, this is for your eyes…optics only. Some of the material is still sensitive and you will not receive the full files, just what I deem to be important. The intelligence community is going to be up in arms and I am glad that a new administration will be sworn in next month and I can finally retire. Also, some members of Congress still want to hold a hearing on the subject, but the President and other key members have been stalling. I don't know how long it can be put off; some want heads to roll and others just want a formal explanation. You and Cosmos are going to have to come to Washington eventually. Also, I want your word that Cosmos will not be flying all over until we can sweep this under the rug and forget about it. As a matter of fact, I don't want his feet to leave the ground. Can we count on Autobot co-operation?"

Prime was hiding his frustration at Keller's comments. He understood the need to address the government; he would ask the same in their shoes, but he saw no reason to punish the scientist for something that wasn't his fault. Grounding the mech would be akin to the death sentence that they were trying to avoid. Keller had gone out of his way to assist and Optimus understood the need to play by the humans rules. "In as much as I can count on government cooperation. Thank you Mr. Secretary, I understand what a risk you are taking and will do everything in my power to help prevent another similar situation, but right now we cannot travel to Washington. Cosmos is still recovering and I fear that traveling might jeopardize his repairs," he said in dulcet tones that were heavy with concern.

"Optimus, you do know that the longer you delay the more it looks like you have something to hide?" Prime just nodded. Keller sighed. "I'll see what I can do. I'll play the pity card if I have to and remind the members of both Houses what sacrifices you have made and you are asking for nothing more than time so one of your own can heal. I think it will work, but, damnit, this is the last time I can postpone it, if at all. You still haven't explained how you managed to take out the entire power grid, and more than a few people are screaming for justice."

Prime rubbed his face in a gesture of frustration. There were several times in his long life when things didn't turn out as planned and instead of feeling disappointment or anger, he felt embarrassment. This was one such time; he was embarrassed that they had destroyed the humans' primary access to the electricity that they needed to run their homes and lives. Not one of his better moments. He had difficulty looking at the diminutive men as he spoke. "That was an…unforeseen occurrence. Had we known that the excess electricity would backlash into the Greater Nevada Municipal Power Grid, we would have attempted to do things…differently."

"What things?" Keller demanded.

Prime felt more like a disobedient sparkling than ever. To cover his discomfort he drew himself up to his full height and addressed the two men. "Cosmos had suffered a complete systems failure and was dead. In an attempt to reboot his systems, Wheeljack fed very large surge of energy through the scientist's body to shock his systems into restarting. This has never been attempted with a Cybertronian, and outcome was more than…we had planed on. Think of it as a similar practice to giving a human a defibrillator shock to start the heart. As a matter of fact, that is where Wheeljack came up with the idea. He enjoys watching E.R. with Ratchet."

He stood in silence as Keller and Banachek processed the information. "You approved for such a risky practice to occur?" the Secretary asked with skepticism and a look of disbelief on his face.

"There was little time to…debate all possible outcomes. One of my mechs was nearly dead and…we thought we could save him." With his head raised in a noble manner, he waited. A good leader always sheltered his own from the anger of others, and takes the blame when things go wrong.

The Statesman seemed thoughtful. "I am relieved you could save one of yours, but what are you going to do to fix the situation?"

Optimus was on firmer ground, he could fix this problem. These were concrete issues and they required concrete solutions. "I have assigned most of the Autobots to assist the utility company with their repairs. I also have Wheeljack working on some dampeners to protect against further surges. I wish I could say that this will never occur again, but the very nature of our technology would make such a statement inaccurate. Also, I have stared moving funds from C.E. Technologies to reimburse the state for the monetary expenditures."

Keller was nodding while taking notes on a pad of paper. "I cannot say for certain, but the money alone should calm some of the state officials down a bit. Throw enough of it at them and they might be willing to look the other way, once."

To Optimus, it felt like bribery. He couldn't count the amount of times he had been offered a startling sum of credits to ignore something or to push something past the council. Not once had he ever touched the tainted currency, not once had he ever lowered himself to be anything other than above reproach, and now here he was waving cash like some lowly Senator trying to obtain a new sky bridge for his city-state. When had he fallen from his standards, at what point had he given up? He must be tired, for his features had reflected his internal struggle, and the Secretary of Defense read him like a book. "I shouldn't have phrased it like that. Paying for the damage one has caused is a common form of retribution. Covering the cost of the damage and assuring them that it won't happen should be enough to convince them of your earnest intentions. If you would like, I am sure that the President would be willing to speak with the governors of Nevada and California."

A sincere "Thank you," rumbled around the room like long forgotten thunder. Optimus waited. He knew that this meeting was not over, as there were still items on the agenda to discuss, and anyone of them could unbalance their relationship. He watched as Keller motioned to Banachek once more and the former Sector Seven agent placed a laptop on the table and turned it on. Optimus was a bit concerned, he had no idea what was coming.

Banachek stood and addressed him. "We have detected several aborted attempts to hack into the Defense Department's computers."

Optimus' brow arched slightly. "You mean there have been recent attempts to access the mainframe, but our security steps have proven successful?"

"No," the man typed a few things into his laptop, "I mean that someone tried to access the mainframe, and upon seeing your security precautions they logged out." He clicked a few more buttons, "I am sending it to you now."

Prime downloaded the information, analyzing the logs thoroughly; apparently, someone had tried multiple times to infiltrate the DoD mainframe by knocking on the front doors, using a number of passwords directed at Wheeljack's encryption walls. Several of them used repeating letters: M, B, L, Y, E. A string of numbers caught his eye, and as he cycled through his own files, he came up with a scrap from a data log Velocity had composed months earlier.

265-89-7459

Melby, Anthony C.

Prime blinked his optics, "Interesting…someone appears to be trying to access the mainframe through Wheeljack's precautions by using information from our human allies' records."

"What do you mean?" Keller paled a little, glancing at Banachek.

"Does this mean we need to change passwords?"

"I would suggest using randomized passwords that do not coincide with alphanumeric data from the user's files; social security numbers, birthdays, addresses…none of those things are safe." The massive flame-covered 'Bot shifted anxiously, "I need to discuss this with my staff, if you will excuse me gentlemen."

"Agreed," Banachek and Keller rose, "We have some house cleaning of our own to do." Optimus allowed them to leave first, then made his way toward his engineer's workshop.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N **- Yes, Blackhawk helicopters have wheels, not skids. I checked.

Once again, my co-author has decided to chime in. Ya'll have no idea how bashful he is. Benjamin's responses are _italicized_.

To **Tiamat1972** ~ Both 'Jack and Sides are clueless, and Side's has no idea what he is doing, or where things go. The poor mech just doesn't get it. To **Elita One **~ Miss Cutter will be just fine, things turn out hunky-dory for her. Yes, history is full is mistaken bits of information, and just because this is a fanfic, doesn't mean the facts don't matter. **Punk Autobot **~ _Yes he does; and he will, but not just yet. He needs to come to terms with his own limitations, and get some pent-up aggression out of his systems. _~ And meds. He needs Zoloft. was down for three days, "It was like, OMG, the end of the world or something." you know we couldn't have some of the old Prowl not show up. He is a complex character, and I hope we can do him justice. To **Taluliaka** ~ _I am pleased you are enjoying so much. This is the first time I have ever written anything about transformers, and considering the size of the fanbase, I was a little gun-shy at first. Thank Shielah, she's the one who dragged me out of my hole and made me start writing. ~ _Don't listen to Ben, he is a darn good writer on his own, and keeps me inline. We aren't ending it until it is done, and it is a long ways from being done. Thank you so much. We are trying to make the characters appear as real as possible and give each of them their own distinct "voice". Exploring the different characters' psyches is one of the major aspects of these stories. Sometimes we even argue over what behaviors a char would and wouldn't do. A little note about Velocity/Sira; I was trying to create an OC with Mary Sue-ish traits that was enjoyable, likeable and interesting than she took of and became her own "person". All alerts and Favorites have been warmly received and appreciated. We Thank you for those.

Come on people, ask questions, critic (we want to get better), comment. Give us your ideas and thoughts. We don't bite…well, I do, but I've had my shots.


	22. What Are Friends For?

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death…nasty death. Let's just say I was in a mood when I wrote it. And a little crack, Ben was in a mood too.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**, Thank you Ben for tolerating my OCD when it comes to this story. Beta read by the fabulous **Okami-myrrhibis**.

_**XxxX**_

_**What Are Friends For?**_

_**XxxX**_

He had been grounded… indefinitely, and he was left stunned and shaken. Optimus had explained the situation to him and he understood that the humans were afraid of him and wanted him leashed like a drone that was on the fritz, and he was to be denied his one true joy. He gave the Prime his word that he would not attempt to leave the planet before the tribunal, and he would accept whatever punishment they deemed sufficient. The terse reply from his commander had not been expected. "There will not be a tribunal. You have done nothing wrong." The emotional force behind the words told Cosmos more than he wanted to know. Optimus was frustrated enough to allow his impenetrable shield of calm patience slip, and show what raged beneath.

Nevertheless, he was still grounded. His flight capabilities could be such an asset to the Autobots, and that was the only real contribution he had to offer. On Cybertron, he was one of the few fliers that had not sided with Megatron, and on Earth, he was the only Autobot that was not a "dirt kisser". Primus knows that his fighting abilities weren't worth a seized piston. Strategy and tactics eluded him. He didn't have the presence to lead, or the skills to spy, infiltrate or do anything covert. About the only thing he was good for now was to serve as cannon fodder, but considering how slow he ran, he wouldn't even make a decent shield on the battlefield. Without his flight abilities, he was as useful as a clogged fuel line, and about as welcomed. Then, to add insult to injury, he had been denied his request to assist the humans with their repair effort. Of all the mechs on Earth, he was the one that should be helping; it was his fault that the power had been interrupted. Everyone was pulling double and triple shifts while he was sitting on his aft drowning in his own misery.

Gazing into the pink swirls that danced within the clear cube, he cursed the day he came online. Picking up the container, he drained the contents and stacked it on top of three others that he had previously emptied. The surge hit his processor and the room tilted to an alarming angle. Burying his head in his arms, he realized he was too over charged to even attempt to offline himself and end his pathetic existence. Somewhere in the back of his mind, suffocating under the heaping layers of self-depreciative thoughts, the rational scientist at his core had just received a startling insight; this was why so many of the mechanoids had started to consume such massive amounts of high grade since the war started. If they couldn't function, then they couldn't kill themselves. It was a twisted form of self-preservation.

That wasn't quite the epiphany he wanted to have.

He stayed this way for a while; his head buried, optics off, and just letting the motion of the room around him roll him along. It was the closest he was going to get to zero gravity for a while.

A firm hand on his back helped stabilized his tortured equilibrium enough that he could raise his head. The smiling optics of Wheeljack were all that he could focus on. "Heard you clocked Mirage. Can I shake your hand?"

The jubilant voice echoed painfully in his audios while the flashing lights on either side of the engineer's head sent cosmos's optic relays ablaze. In an electronic whisper, he responded dully, "What does rapidly moving my manual extremities have to do with assaulting that piece of self-serving slag?"

The bellowing laughter made him wince. "It is a human expression. I would offer you some high grade, but it appears you have consumed most of it."

He ignored his friend's jovial nature and focused on being miserable. "Fine, mock me if you must." Cosmos cycled his vents and with wobbly movements shifted so 'Jack could sit with him. An errant arm bumped the delicately stacked tower, knocking the empty cubes to the floor with a clamorous noise. "It matters not; Prime has already ordered me to power down my nacelles. I have been robbed of the sky, and my worth."

"Wow," Wheeljack pulled a cube of high grade from the case he carried in his hand, "I had forgotten what a whiney little spark you can be at times." The engineer sat down beside him, offering another cube to the dour scientist, "Lighten up! You and I both know that Prime is just doing this to appease the humans. Give him a few orns, and he'll have things back to normal."

"I don't think it will be so simple…" Cosmos looked down into the inviting numbness of the cube. "I can't believe I killed so many of the humans. I am a monster, to have snuffed out so many potentially brilliant minds...I, more than anyone else, should be out there fixing the damage that has been wrought on my behalf."

"I know where you're going with this, and you can stop right there, you…self-derision-con," Wheeljack snickered. "Homo sapiens are well intentioned, but not always terribly bright…"

"Stop right there," Cosmos interrupted while setting the empty cube aside and retrieving another. The fortunate side effect of his size and the power requirements of his space-faring systems was his capacity to retain a longer charge than most other mechs. "We have already brought destruction and war to this quiet little blob of sediment. We should be doing everything we can to help the tiny ape-people contend with our fragging…destruction and war."

"You must be overcharged, you are becoming redundant," the engineer chided. "Well, while you have been sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, I have busied myself in the study of human sciences. Have you ever done a Wikipedia search on one Nicolai Tesla?"

Cosmos' optics dimmed a bit as his mind reached out through the internet. A few seconds later, the moody mech sat up a little straighter. "Most interesting."

"And I have conceived of a way to use his technology to not only restore power to the humans, but do so in a way that is environmentally friendly and we won't be violating any of the Primes edicts, well… maybe one, but it is minor." Wheeljack steepled his fingers together and cocked a brow arch at his soon to be co-conspirator.

Cosmos shifted nervously. "I'm starting to get the same feeling I did back on Iacon, when we decided to convert the plasma grid into an inverted solar matrix," the green mech said with more than a little trepidation.

Setting another cube before his friend, and one for himself, Wheeljack leaned close and whispered, "I would never do anything that would be harmful to humans. Look at it this way; we are using their existing technology to fix a problem. There won't be a plasma feed or ionic radiation, just good old mundane electricity; that is it. How bad can it be?" The pearlescent mech smiled behind his battle mask and spread his hands invitingly; he resembled an intergalactic televangelist calling the downtrodden to believe in him.

The energon was eating away at the flier's processor, images of the humans forgiving him for accidentally harming so many rode along on high-grade fueled thoughts. Perhaps if they did this it would make things easier for Optimus and the rest of the Autobots. If the humans directly benefited from anything that the Cybertronians did, maybe the alliance between the two species wouldn't be so tense. Listing to one side and then straightening up again, Cosmos squinted a smile at his long time friend. "You brilliant madmech, I implore you to continue."

_**XxxX**_

Simply stated, Catherine was having fun. She had been furious when Optimus informed her that she couldn't return home. She had been terrified _and_ furious when the ill-tempered red femme had, literally, dumped her onto another mech and walked off. That mech in question had been Ironhide and the continuous string of vile threats he muttered had her scared. He left her on his shoulder and seemed willing to ignore the fact that she was there until he crossed paths with a white Autobot that had unusual lights on the side of his head that lit up whenever he spoke. This alien seemed more than willing to watch after her, and she enjoyed talking with Wheeljack, although she was getting the distinct impression that he had a few screws loose. Their visit was cut short when a garish green mech stepped into the room, and pronounced her underweight…that she could have done without. Her new babysitter immediately snatched her up and took her back to Prime. After a short, terse conversation in Cybertronian, she was quickly removed and left with a smaller red mech that practically twitched when he talked. Cliffjumper seemed more than happy to spend time with her, until the black and white po-po 'Bot from earlier called her new friend away. From there she was taken to the Witwickies and Bumblebee. At the current rate, Catherine figured that she would soon get to meet and be held by every Autobot on Earth within a couple of hours.

She liked Sam and Mikaela. They genuinely welcomed her to their private quarters and the threesome sat and talked for a while. She found it frustrating that whenever, she tried to discuss the Autobots, the conversation became stilted and tense. The presence of the yellow and black Camaro didn't help much either. He was cordial enough, even offering to take them all on a drive, which Mrs. Witwicky turned down, commenting of being tired.

Catherine saw the way Sam looked at his wife. The tenderness and concern for her and their unborn child was evident to all. Trying to find out more, the reporter asked when the woman was due, what they had intended to name the child, did they want a boy or a girl, all of the standard questions asked to expecting parents. She found out very little, the weary looks that Sam and the Autobot were giving her when she asked personal questions, reminded her that she was an outsider. She wasn't privy to the inner workings or the personal aspects of these amazing aliens and their human friends. That saddened her more than anything, she had had small glimpses into a life she had never dreamed of and found that she desperately wanted.

It was then that the hyperactive Cliffjumper returned to collect her. To say that she had been surprised would have been an understatement; the assumption was that once again she had been pawned off to burden someone else. The jovial mech even apologized for having to leave her and attend a meeting; he then thanked Bumblebee for his assistance, and off they went. Now she was sitting on the shoulder of the green Jeep that called himself Hound, watching her red friend and an enormous mech help a couple of teams of utility workers from Nevada State Power Co-op as they worked a massive substation on the outskirts of Las Vegas.

"Oh, come on Warpath, can't you hold that support a little straighter?" Hound called from where he was leaning against a building. The mech he was harassing made some sort of gesture in return and Catherine could only assume that it was meant to be obscene. The Jeeps entire body shook with laughter.

"Shouldn't you be helping them?" she asked her perch.

"Naw," the Autobot drawled. "I'm just here to keep those two out of trouble. Consider me to be in a supervisory position." She couldn't help but laugh at the robot's cheeky comments.

A shrill beeping reminded her that she had started this day with a different itinerary. "Shit!" she exclaimed as she turned the alarm of on the watch Jim had loaned her.

"Problems?" asked the mech.

"Yeah," the reporter huffed. "I was supposed to meet my partner by now and if I don't show, he will start calling in the lawyers."

The Autobot cocked his head to the side in an all too familiar expression. "Do you have your cell phone?" he finally asked.

"Yea, but with the power down to the entire state, none of the towers work. I can't call him."

"Sure you can. Just let Hound see what he can do. Hand me your phone."

Catherine dug through the numerous pockets and pulled out her Blackberry, setting the device in the much larger hand, she wondered how he kept it from slipping between the gaps in his armor and disappearing forever. Hound worked quickly, as a slender filament snaked from his wrist and attached itself to the phone. Shifting so he could stand upright, the Autobot started slowly turning; reminding her of a radar dish tracking an unseen object. "What's your friend listed under?" the alien asked.

The question took her by surprise and she stuttered her response. "Uh…Jim. Jim P."

"Hold on…Hello. Jim?…This is Autobot Hound. I have some one here that would like to talk to you." The mech moved so that she could pick up her phone, the thin wire was still attached. Before it ever came near her head, she could here the tirade from her cameraman.

"Jim! Jim, it's me. It's me, Catherine." She had to yell into the phone to be heard over the shouted threats.

"Cat?" Came the hesitant question.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm fine. The Cybertronians picked me up long before I made it to the base, but I am fine." She had to reassure the ex-Navy Seal before he started going all Rambo on her behalf.

"Are you sure you are safe? How the hell are you calling? Everything is out."

She didn't get to answer the question; it was Hound that chimed in. "She is safe. I give you my word that she is being well cared for. Once the power grid is up, either Cliffjumper or myself will return her to her home. I'm bouncing the signal for her, think of me as your personal transmitter."

Catherine almost dropped the Blackberry, when the Autobot's voice resonated in her ear, and Hound himself hadn't moved, or made any outward noise; he wasn't even paying attention to her, he was watching the progress on the repairs. Jim seemed to be mulling over the mech's words. Finally, the older man said, "That's probably for the best. Night ain't even here yet and they've had a few riots. Nothing major, but with a hundred thousand or so scared tourists on the Strip, I doubt Vegas will be such a great place to be for a few days. As it is, Sandy and I are packing some stuff and heading to the cabin until this blows over. Cat, I think it's best that you stay with the Autobots or come out to the lake with us."

"Where is the cabin?" Hound asked through some internal speakers.

There was silence for a few seconds, long enough for Catherine to realize that she didn't even know that Jim was married. He came back with the directions to the cabin and Hound thanked him. A beep told her that her Blackberry was dying and quick good-byes were said before Hound terminated the call.

"Thank you," she said the Autobot and he just blew it off as if wasn't anything important.

_**XxxX**_

Velocity did not have a clue why she had been assigned to assist the humans; it wasn't as if she had vast knowledge pertaining to electrical relays or substations, and to make it even more difficult, she was working under the scrutiny of Prowl. The mech had assigned everybody to work in teams and she was to assist him. They had spent most of their day at the Hoover Dam Facility, checking the hydroelectric generators. Apparently, a well-informed Cybertronian could quickly scan the turbines and miles upon miles of wires and pinpoint the damage in a fraction of the time it took the human workers to chase down the malfunctions. If this was going on all over the state, then power should be up with in a day or two.

It was when Prowl had requested access to the interior of the dam, that things took a strange twist. Out of curiosity, she had accompanied him into the chamber where the Allspark had been kept. They walked side by side down the dismal tunnel that took them into the damp interior of one of mankind's greatest structures. A hollow drip echoed, reminding her that only concrete and iron kept millions of gallons of water from obliterating everything downstream and most of it was over her head. Had it been Optimus, Wheeljack or even Ironhide she was escorting, she would have slipped her hand into one of theirs for support, but this was Prowl. The femme didn't think that the tactician would look favorably on anyone that took comfort in such a simple gesture.

She still jumped whenever the black and white mech came near her, but the blinding panic of before had lessened and she could tolerate his presence…some. She doubted she could ever feel comfortable with him; his stiff mannerisms and cold, rigid bearing did little to endear him to her, but he was one of her bonded's most trusted, and they would have close dealings with each other for a long, long time.

The room they were in was enormous and it had been scrubbed clean. Nothing was left to even hint that anything had occurred here. The ceiling vaulted overhead like a cathedral dedicated to absolute nothingness. Velocity could feel the residual power that the Allspark had pulsed with, and she knew that Prowl could feel it too. The tactician was making his way across the room to stand at the foot of the platform that had once held the artifact that gave life to his world. He just stood there, staring at the empty space, his thoughts well concealed behind a neutral expression; only the occasional soft click of his optic shutters as he blinked hinted that his unmoving form was still alive. She didn't say anything, there was nothing she could say. "I'm sorry," had no meaning here, they were just hollow words.

After several long minutes, the mech turned towards her and his true blue optics bore into her green ones. "Did you know Jazz?" he asked in a hushed tone, and she just shook her head. Prowl scrutinized her some more. "Pity, he would have liked you…I think," the Autobot said in flat voice. Prowl looked around the abandoned room with a distant gaze, then his focus snapped back to her. "The others talk about you, they…speculate if you are the final gift of the Allspark or just the natural progeny of one of the crew from the Ark. I haven't given it much thought either way, but I do know that you are painfully young and the Prime looks upon you with more than just casual fondness in his gaze. I also know that your relationship to him places him at risk and the fewer that know the safer the both of you are. If keeping my commander safe means laying down my life for you then I will do so." The mech gave a curt bow and strolled past her.

Prowl disappeared down the long corridor that lead them to the almost holy room. Velocity just stood rooted to the spot. Her chest tightened as she replayed his words over and over again. She had never wanted the responsibility of this, these people, looking up to her as if she was some sort of leader. She had been comfortable in her pariah-dom, living without obligation to anyone but herself. Adjusting to being with Optimus had been harrowing, coming to grips with not being alone, even in herself, but she had come to revel in the constant closeness, the companionship she had been denied in her former life. It had been good, maybe even ideal, having someone be a part of her at all times, being alone but never quite all alone. But this, having the others pandering after her, speculating after, pursuing after her, like she was a rare jewel to be acquired. Now, they were pledging to die for her, as if she was a queen. No one could really expect her to just accept that burden, could they?

Collapsing in upon herself, she transformed into a little hardtop Sky roadster and left a smoking trial of black marks behind her as she hurried to leave the silent vault and its empty oppression. She sent a frantic message to Bumblebee, wanting him to meet her.

She had to get away; away from Prowl, away from the mausoleum of the Cybertronian race, and away from just being her. She knew the scout wouldn't haunt her with cryptic words or strange vows. No, he would most likely fill their audios with some slamming music and challenge her to a race a cross the desert. That was what she needed right now.

_**XxxX**_

"Wow! That is some good slag! Cliffy, you gotta have some of this!" the huge Autobot yelled across the yard as he picked himself up off his aft. Warpath, a genial mech that had joined with Ironhide long before the Prime did, rapped lightly on the cannon barrel that protruded from over his shoulder, "Nothing like mainlining a good charge to pick you up on a triple shift!" Based off a Sherman Tank and colored a drab desert tan, the heavily armored mech was the only Autobot who possessed a military based alt form. Coupled with his rowdy, good-natured attitude caused some of the soldiers to take a quick shine to the munitions master.

"I don't know if we should," the smaller of the two said timidly, eyes flickering between his towering ally and the crackling power line that was offered out to him. "Prowl was really serious about keeping ourselves straight and stable."

"Prowl was mee meh mee meh mee meh mee mee..." Warpath was impersonating the SIC with one hand, sort of like a metallic sock puppet. "Primus, Cliffy, you are the biggest sparkling I have ever seen!"

"I'm not a sparkling!" Cliffjumper jerked the line from Warpath's hand, "Would a sparkling do this?" Jamming the line into his access port, Cliffjumper jerked, his back arching as far as it would go as the powerful surge rippled through his slim frame. A scout like Bumblebee, Cliffjumper's small frame was heavily stylized by his alternate form of a Jeep Windcharger. The surge sent him down onto his aft and he flopped onto his back, a billowing cloud of dust surrounded his form. Giggling like a fool, he stared into the blazing corona of the yellow sun overhead, as the electric surge hit every relay and he shivered and twitched. "Oh my spark, that is AWESOME!"

The ruckus they were causing had snagged the attention of the various road crews, who decided it was break time so they could watch the antics of the pair of Autobots. The tank 'Bot had started laughing and reached down to poke Cliffjumper in the chest; he straightened too quickly, and tumbled onto his aft. The jarring impact sent tremors through the immediate area and those caught unaware found them selves knocked off their feet. This raised a chorus of laughter from not only the bots, but also their human allies. It was just something to break the tension, spending all day going from one relay station to the next to make the needed repairs had the humans worn and frazzled. A little diversion was welcome.

Perched on Hound's shoulder, Catherine Cutter was touched by the sight; here they were humans and Autobots, working in tandem to not only defend against the Decepticons, but in performing mundane maintenance to human cities. The laughter had even reached her, and she suppressed a giggle, not unlike the pleasantly deep chuckle that rumbled form her current conveyance. "Are they okay? Does it hurt to do that to yourselves?" she asked.

"What, a little overcharge?" Hound smiled, "Not in the least; it's actually quite pleasant. I think it might be like getting' a good 'buzz' on for a human."

A couple of dusty Autobots were drawn to the commotion. At the new comers, transformed Catherine instantly recognized Bumblebee and Velocity. "What the holy Hell?" the femme said to no one in particular. 'Bee shrugged and cocked his head to the side, and the two appeared to be exchanging some unspoken communication. The yellow mach then patted the ill-tempered femme on the back while she visible rolled her optics in disgust. The reported wondered if all Cybertronian females were this irritable or if this one was suffering from the robot equivalent of perpetual PMS.

Hearing the femme's annoyed voice, Cliffjumper scrambled to his feet so fast that his heels furrowed the road's surface as they dug into the asphalt for purchase. "Um, Velocity, hi!" he waved, then scratched the back of his neck, then waved again. For her part, the red femme appeared to mostly ignore the fidgety mech. Velocity and Bumblebee turned and started towards where she and Hound were lounging in the shade. Catherine had the distinct impression that party time was over.

_**XxxX.**_

"I can't do it," Anthony Melby sobbed with a horse voice while trying to hide from the hateful red optics as they bore into him. Wiping the blood off his forehead with a shaking hand the physicist felt tears run down his face, and he just wanted to wake up from the unholy nightmare he had found himself in.

It had all started like just any normal day in his life that had become extraordinary; he had been hired by the Autobots on a per diem basis and they paid incredibly well, but what was even better was that he had found a friend in the engineer Wheeljack. When ever he wasn't at the Autobot base, he and his 'Bot buddy were constantly texting or emailing. He was kept abreast of all of the gossip that circulated, and what new antics the new arrivals were up to as they learned to negotiate a new culture. He was the happiest he had been in years, for the first time in his life he wasn't a freak…maybe he was still a freak, but at least there were other freaks like him. He had even met a pretty lieutenant, and they had started seeing each other. Life was good, he had an awesome job, money to blow, a hot girl that had her own MP-5, and the coolest friend in the universe. He had even decided to head home for Christmas and see his family; surely, they would be impressed with his newfound status. He was liked and respected, and now it looked like all of that was coming to a crashing end.

Using his sleeve to wipe away the snot that trailed under his nose he raised his head to the mech that towered over him. It took all of his will to gaze upon the abomination; the Decepticon was a cold black, his features and distinguishing characteristics blended into a flat silhouette, and only the hellish red optics gave any hint of life or sentience. "Did you hear me? I said I can't do it," Tony repeated himself.

If the Decepticon understood him, it gave no hint, and only regarded him with an unfeeling countenance. "Cannot, or will not?" The towering figure asked him in an unemotional metallic rasp.

Tony opened his mouth and nothing came out. He was scared beyond all reason and sobbed piteously. He couldn't believe he had been so stupid. Something about the email that 'Jack had sent him seemed off, it just wasn't the scientist's usual banter. It was tersely stated, "The Prime wants you to return to the base immediately, an Autobot will pick you up in fifteen minutes. Wheeljack." Jack never referred to Optimus as "the Prime"… "OP", "Big 'Bot", or just plain "Optimus", but never "the Prime". Then there was the mech that came to pick him up. He had never seen the Cybertronian before, and his instincts were screaming for him to run, but he ignored it and opened the driver-side door like a brainless idiot. It had been so easy for them to fool him; he didn't deserve his two-hundred and ten I.Q.

"I said I can't. I'm not a hacker, I figure out complicated mathematical problems. Here I'll show you." Moving the laptop so he could use it better, with fingers that would barely uncurl, Tony opened a file that contained a project he and 'Jack had been working on. He really didn't know what it was for; he had only been shown part of it and asked to double check the figures. Slowly spinning the computer so the Decepticon could see it he hoped to convince them that he wasn't what they thought and let him go.

The only change in the demonic figure was a slight widening of the optic shutters. A hand hovered over the silver Acer and a single filament snaked from it to the computer, linking the alien to the laptop. Tony didn't know what he had done, but he knew it had to be bad.

The black mech dropped to a kneeling position, and roughly snatched the physicist up with one hand. Tony's scream was silenced as the Decepticon squeezed hard enough to cut off his wind, but not crush him. Tightly shutting his eyes, the man prayed that he wouldn't lose control of his bladder, though the thought of pissing uncontrollably on a murderous robot was… humorous. Oh, God, he was going into shock. A shake made him open his eyes and realize he was mere feet from the face of a denizen of the Ninth Circle of Hell.

"You cannot access the Defense Departments computer network?" the cold voice asked, and he shook his head in answer. "Are you not one of the humans that has access to the Prime's inner circle?"

"I don't even know what that means." Tony answered truthfully.

"Do you know what the computations you were working on are for?" Again, the man shook his head, his voice caught in his throat.

"You are useless to me." The Decepticon opened his hand and Tony found himself falling to Earth, the impact sent a shockwave of pain from his ankle through his entire body. Rolling into a ball while clutching at the damaged appendage, he saw that his foot was turned to the inside at a freakish angle. He didn't hear the bones snap upon impact, but the rapid swelling and purplish color told him he wouldn't be walking. The monster near him stood and moved away. He thought about begging for his life, but knew that it would do little good; this was a being that had no concept of mercy. Sobbing softly he waited for his heroic rescue. Any moment now, the Autobots would come blazing through the door and fight to save him. Any second now, Optimus Prime would show up and obliterate the Decepticons in a show of inhuman fighting prowess. Fatigue, pain and fear caught up to him and he retched. Spitting the taste of bile out of his mouth, Tony wondered if complications from his leg, septicemia or throwing a clot into his brain, would kill him before he was saved.

A low growl pulled him away from his reverie and he saw the thing slink towards him; it was an alien, but not like any of the others, he had seen. This one move on four legs in an ever-tightening circle, sizing up what minimal resistance the physicist might make, crippled with fear. The mouth opened to reveal a row of long, wickedly curved teeth-like spikes, inhuman soulless optics fixed on him, reflecting his stark fear. The creature growled again, stalking round and around, like a shark circling its prey and all he could do was sit there and try to keep the horror in sight.

The alien snarled and made to pounce; Tony barely got his arm up in time before the thing clamped down, driving the sharp spines through the tender flesh and muscle. The physicist screamed as the metal beast savagely shook him from side to side, splintering bone and rending muscle, before the arm tore free and Melby slid across the floor. Staring drunkenly at the gory stump of his right arm, he moaned and rolled over, in time for the beast to straddle his chest, its muzzle an inch from his face. _Where was Optimus? Where was Wheeljack?_

"Have… mercy… please," Tony begged pathetically, tears welling up from his eyes. The beast responded by drawing its head back like a cobra as it opened its maw, lunging close and snapping down on the young man's neck.

Soundwave turned to the other Decepticons as Ravage played with his new toy. The noise of the screaming organic was cut off by wet, tearing sounds. He knew it was just as important to reward, as it was to punish. His attention fell onto a particular black and white mech that had failed him.

"This was not the target I instructed you to acquire." His words were spoken in the same emotionless monotone he always used.

Barricade bowed deeply to him, and he was not moved; displays of respect and subservience were nothing but hollow gestures, only success had any meaning to him. "I have informed you how hard it is to get near the target. The human spends little time in at any given location and he is always in contact with the others. His disappearance will attract immediate attention, and I was under the impression you did not want to alert the Prime," the shock trooper said with hostile candor.

He knew Barricade wouldn't try to cover his actions with well-chosen excuses like Starscream. No, the warrior was most likely telling the truth, and couldn't get to the human, but refused to return empty handed.

"But why that one?"

Soundwave glanced at the mech that had spoken the question. Hardcore had been trying to undermine Barricade in an attempt to rise through the ranks, and he was not going to interfere. Both were competent and ruthless, acceptable material for the position of second in command, unlike that coward Starscream. He would let the two of them fight for the privilege to stand next to him and the survivor would win the title.

Barricade sneered at his competitor. "The Autobots guard their humans very closely. This was the only one that did not stay in close contact with them. He had his own domicile away from the base and seemed oblivious to any danger."

"Sounds like excuses," Hardcore retorted. The younger mech met him in the optic without flinching and said, "Lord Soundwave, I ask permission to attempt to locate and retrieve the human Reginald Simmons, and ask to have two others accompany me."

Soundwave nodded silently and the ambitious 'Con called after Thundercracker and Overdrive.

Movement caught the leader's attention and he watched the shock trooper move to stand beside him. "What are you after?" the bold mech asked.

"That is not your concern," he stated.

_**XxxX**_

**Author Request: **If anyone out there is good at drawing mech, I would love a picture of Velocity. I have tried and failed at attempting to draw her. PM me if you are interested, I'm sure we could work out a trade. Please

**A/N: **Random fact: The Hoover Dam is so heavy that is has formed a depression in the Earth's Crust. Also, if anyone is interested, I am planning on hosting a TF RP on Gaiaonline. It is in the beginning stages, but everyone is welcome to come. OCs are accepted. It should be up by next week (i hope). It's at the Council of Iacon, or PM me for directions :)

To **TheRavenQuoth** - Thank you. I had that speech planed in the first story, but never got to use it. To **Ladyofthebookworms **- Comments are loved, but not necessary. I am glad the plot is working out, it has more twist than a can of worms and things haven't started getting interesting yet. V has a strange view of people, I can't imagine where she gets it ;). Mirage is a complicated character, more about him later. To **Northwest Sage **- Thank you, that means a lot. It is hard to judge if the story continues to be interesting. *hugs* You made my day. To **Taluliaka** - Thank you. I wish I could post chapters quicker, but I am a slow writer. Yes, Mirage is an elitist, and a problem child. To **Liz** - What kind of cookie would you like. After I posted a friend pointed out the error and I had a headdesk moment. Yes, it was meant to say Billion. Thank you. I am stunned by your gracious words. Again, Thank you. To **Library Drone SAR **- Yup, there are almost seven billion peoples in the world. I apologize for the typo, and it was a typo. Thank you. I like knowing that my readers pay attention and keep me on my toes. Chocolate chip or snickerdoodle? To **Persimmon** - … Your words have left me with little to say. Thank you. Finish your story. I would like to read it. To **Brynstar **- Thank you. I am glad that we have pleased you so much, and it is a we. I have an amazing co-author and fabulous beta that help out a lot. The Cosmos chapter was entirely Benjamin that was his vision. I let him take the reigns and I just tweaked. Cosmos will figure heavily later on.


	23. Bad Ideas

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**. Beta read by **Okami-myrrhibis**. Between the two of them they keep me in line. And Myrrhibis, you were right about Hound.

I was going to post this later in the week, but I realized I have a couple of cakes to bake, an RP to write, and a birthday to wade through. I will not have any time, so here is a chapter a couple of days early.

_**XxxX**_

_**Bad Ideas**_

_**XxxX**_

With most of the Autobots off base, helping the humans, and the power supply at less than half percent, the long corridors and cavernous rooms of his home on Earth were tomb-quiet. The usual ruckus of voices and echoing foot falls were mere ghosts; sacred spirits of normalcy and companionship that haunted this place and whispered softly for an end to the stillness. The Prime of Cybertron knew the bustle of living bodies, both flesh and metal, would soon repopulate his fortress, but for the moment the life and energy of others seemed as far as another galaxy. Optimus sat in the stark half light of his office, his mood as deep and indestructible as the shadows that surrounded him. Silence wrapped around his enormous frame like a shroud, hanging in graceful folds and melancholy layers. Even the great leader's brilliant optics were dim as he focused on the thoughts that prowled dangerously through his processor.

Optimus had never comprehended the true burden of leadership until he ascended to his current status. He knew that the Prime had to be the embodiment of perfection and wisdom, both qualities he always felt he was sorely lacking. The Prime had to be strong and steadfast in spark; he felt weak and faltering. The Prime respected all life and protected his people; he did not want to count the number of mechs he had personally terminated as his world crumbled around him. The Prime was selfless and he had committed numerous acts of selfish need over the vorns. The Prime made just and fair decisions; he only seemed to make difficult decisions, horrible decisions, decisions that haunted him to this day, but the decision he just made crushed a small part of his spark; another wound for his already shattered spirit. He had seen the resignation in the mech's yellow optics. He saw the shoulders of a kind friend slump in defeat under the weight of his words. He witnessed Cosmos turn inward and wallow in self-condemnation, as he told the flier that he was grounded and to power down his flight programs. He tried to explain that it was only temporary and the humans would most likely allow him to return to the skies in a couple of their months, but the words had little effect on the smaller 'Bot and he feared that his old friend felt betrayed.

A decent Prime would have come up with a better solution.

A warm tendril wrapped itself around his spark and he felt the closeness of his mate. She was somewhere near Las Vegas, helping the electric company with their repairs. Giving the bond a stroke, he sent her on her way; they both had work to do and would spend time together later. After Velocity pulled away from their connection he savored the fading traces of the color of her mood, it was all steely gray and business-like with a few slashes of soft, pink mirth. Not the usual flaming scarlet interlaced with vibrant jewel-tones. Sighing, Prime allowed his thoughts to move away from his partner and dive into deeper, darker realms.

He worried about Ravage and why the Decepticons had not shown themselves yet. The state was without power, leaving the humans helpless and unable to communicate with each other. The Ark was lying unprotected in the desert; a variable trove of raw metal and supplies that enemy had to need. The Autobots were scattered over two states and he sat alone in his office while only three other mechs populated the base at the moment, and no sign of the Decepticons. It was a perfect time to strike and they weren't taking advantage of it. They weren't even a blip on the sensors, and that had him concerned. Ironhide's infamous quote came to mind, "_When a 'Con is in your laser sights, at least you know what he is doing_". Right now, Optimus would be very interested in knowing what the enemy was up to.

Had Megatron been in charge, there would have already been several skirmishes. His brother enjoyed nothing more than stressing the Autobots mentally and physically with the threat of random attacks, some of which made little sense other than to cause widespread destruction. No, Megatron would have attacked them the minute the Ark slammed into the Earth and they were all distracted.

Starscream wouldn't have behaved much differently. That seeker's need for vengeance and affirmation will be his downfall. The joke had always been if someone could just tell the scientist that he was appreciated and was doing an outstanding job that he would be so busy glowing and preening himself that a sniper could land a clean shot to his spark chamber. Optimus doubted that it would be quite that easy, but some of his men had a point. Starscream's ego wouldn't let him pass up an opportunity like this.

The Decepticons on Earth had to have leadership; otherwise there would be so much infighting that someone would notice. They had a commander and all of the evidence pointed to the worst possible candidate…Soundwave. The presence of Ravage, while a strong indicator, was not enough proof to determine if the Councilor was on the planet. No, it was the fact that no one could find the Decepticons had Optimus convinced that Soundwave was in control. That mech acted and behaved like no other, he didn't have an equal. A council member turned rogue scientist, he kept to himself and more importantly he kept his thoughts and plans to himself. Prime was well aware that with Megatron gone, Soundwave would be the most likely contender to the Decepticon throne, so it would stand to reason that he should be on Cybertron rallying the troops behind him, not on Earth hiding from a small band of Autobots and the humans. If he was planetside, that didn't bode well. The energon in the Prime's lines started to chill as he thought about all of the possible scenarios that could play out, and he wouldn't have a clue what was happening until Soundwave wanted him to.

Optimus resisted the urge to call Secretary Keller and ask for the freedom to have his mechs roaming the country side, accessing classified computers and leaving the country in search of a mech that might not be on Earth. He couldn't come up with a way to phrase such a request and not sound like he was either paranoid or that his bearings had just fallen off. Unfortunately when dealing with Soundwave, it was safer to be a little paranoid; that one had a history of disregarding Cybertronian laws and morals to do whatever he felt was the most efficient method at the moment and if it was more efficient for someone to live they lived, if efficientcy called for death they died. It was logic at its purest.

The Decepticons under the guidance of Megatron were brutal and deadly. The Decepticons under the leadership of Soundwave would still remain brutal and deadly, but their leader wouldn't waste time with such concepts as pride or revenge. He would tear through the cosmos at a frightening speed, obliterating all those that he had no use for without a second thought.

Optimus let the somber shadows gather around him and seep into his thoughts like spend oil; thick, dark and viscous.

He thought about Anthony Melby. The jubilant physicist was on vacation, a concept Optimus found…interesting. The idea of going somewhere and leaving the grind of everyday life behind to indulge in lazy revelry was inviting to say the least. Cybertronians didn't have an equivalent concept, and he wondered if he should start a new cultural movement. Unfortunately, day dreaming would not help him right now.

Up-linking to Teletraan-1 he quickly went through every program that the man had accessed while at Autobot Base Alpha. Nothing appeared suspicious. The logs showed that he spend most of his time working on projects with Wheeljack, or surfing the net for trivialities: eBay, an online RPG forum, Priceline, his home email…nothing of significance. Combing a little deeper, he saw where Melby had tried to open a few military files, but was denied access. Every attempt was on a single file…Lieutenant Sarah Osgood. Optimus snorted to himself, he was well aware of that blossoming relationship. Truthfully, he was more aware of which human was copulating with which other human than he cared to be, but most Autobots liked to gossip and rumors frequently found their way to his audios. In the end he didn't find anything that would lead him to believe that Tony would try to hack the Department of Defense's computers. Primus, the only time the physicist even attempted to get classified information, it was about a woman he was sparking over. That left the possibility that someone else had access to the data.

Optimus easily shifted to a satellite's signal and hi-jacked part of it for his own purposes. Dialing Tony's number, he waited. Within a few rings he was sent to voice mail, and a frown creased the metal features of the Prime's face. Tony was notorious for having his phone on and by his side. Optimus tried again and when the pleasant and emotionless human voice was finished speaking, he left a message for Tony to call him.

As the dark shadows stagnated around him, he felt disquiet crawl along the relays in his back and neck. Something was wrong. Somewhere he had missed something, he had stumbled ungainly across it and now it was hidden by his clumsiness. Back tracking he sorted through the files and folders he had just visited with his mind. The information was right there, it had to be. Flipping through the data several more times, he continued to not see what it was that was filled him with foreboding. Frustration took the form of impatience and he tried Melby's phone again; still no answer, which annoyed the Prime more than anything. He was certain of the man's innocence, but he wanted to talk to him to find out who had access to such personal information.

Wanting answers and not being able to find any, Optimus flittered around the intranet for the base and found a document Melby had forwarded to his home email address that was all that Optimus needed. Blowing through the human's computer's security protocols he had full access to Anthony Melby's life. Reading a stack of mundane emails, Prime found one confirming a flight on Delta leaving today for Ontario Canada.

Checking his chronometer, Optimus figured that the physicist would currently be in the air and that would easily explain why he didn't answer his phone. It would be minimal effort to have Bumblebee or Cosmos hack into the wifi on the plane, but it would be for naught if the man's phone was turned off. Feeling some sense of relief, Optimus looked though the rest of the emails; he saw a blank one from an unknown source and several from Melby's mother.

Optimus shifted his weight and checked to see if any progress had been made in restoring the power grid. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that a few smaller communities had electricity.

_**XxxX**_

The crimson and copper femme couldn't believe what she was witnessing; the two Autobots were lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, and the humans were laughing like that was the funniest thing they had ever seen. The supposed mech in-charge was busy chatting with a reporter that was perched on his shoulder like a flightless parrot. Cliffjumper had scrambled to his feet and then had to lean against a phone pole to maintain his balance; Warpath was looking at her with a sappy grin under half closed optics. Turning to Bumblebee she gave him a quizzical expression and the yellow scout shrugged as he waved off the power line that the munitions expert was offering him. Of all the…

"Hound. Why are they blitzed?" she asked with a bit more anger in her voice than she had intended.

The green mach just smiled sweetly and winked. "They just got a bit extra juice in their systems. No harm in it and they should be able to go another shift before they have to recharge." The femme just shook her head. It wasn't as if she actually in charge or anything. Last time she checked the role of leadership and guidance fell to Optimus, Prowl and sometimes Ratchet and Ironhide. Nope, she was just here to follow instructions and try to be useful.

Most of the time she was reduced to playing pack mule at the work site.

"Can you lift this here?"

"Can you move that there?"

"Please double check the line?" That request became the most important one of the day. With so much damage done and the entire grid down, it was difficult for the power company to accurately trace which high voltage lines were live and which ones weren't. Several times the men were told that a line was safe when, in reality it had twenty-five thousand volts coursing through it. Perhaps the Autobots did save a few lives that day, perhaps they didn't, but either way the utility workers were happy to have the Cybertronians double checking things.

'Bee was much more help than she ever could be. Left to his own devices, he reattached downed lines, and changed out blown transformers while she smiled nicely, chatted with onlookers, hating every minute of the day.

She worked hard to be polite and civil to the Nevadans. She even fielded some complaints about the situation and made sure that she was oozing with sincere remorse for the situation, and the situation was a major black-eye for the Autobots. One of their number had caused the mess and the rest of them were dealing with it. She cooed placating words and smoothed over ruffled feathers to the best of her ability, and most of the people were just happy to have their power restored in such a reasonable amount of time. She worked hard to rub some of the tarnish off the public's view of the Autobots and her patience was spent.

With hands on her hips and feet spread she addressed the leader of this intergalactic frat party. "Hound, has it occurred to you that we are trying to make a decent impression here and…?"

"Oh, you sound like Prowl. Have a hit and loosen some bolts, it'll do you some good," Warpath interrupted while offering her the sparking end of a thick black cable.

She put her hands up in a gesture of rejection, wanting no part of the serpentine coil of metal and plastic. The arcing zaps of electricity that periodically erupted from the raw exposed wires made Velocity uncomfortable. She might be a mech, but she still had the instincts of an organic, and all she saw was pain or death. Stepping backward she turned to set off and find the crew chief to talk to him for a couple of minutes, when the crystalline ring of an metal hand smacking her aft hung in the air like a single death toll.

Velocity froze.

It took a couple of clicks for her processor to catch up with, and the fiery burn of her temper to ignite. She barely registered Bumblebee snatching Catherine off Hound's shoulder and pulling Cliffjumper out of the immediate area.

The femme's optics narrowed and their vibrant hue darkened, time seemed to stand still. She turned slowly, deliberately and looked at the Autobot goliath; waiting for him to say _anything_. She didn't have to wait long.

"You are defiantly something I'd like to swap some paint with," Warpath purred. Neither heard the snickers of the humans nor saw the way the men nudged each other with their elbows as a yellow scout tried to herd them out of harm's way.

Velocity wasn't sure how to proceed; nothing in her past life or in this one had taught her how to handle the unwanted advances of an overcharged, cannon toting, horny mech. Even as an organic, she didn't "date". She had had one lover in that life and never tried for others; mostly, she worked very hard to go unnoticed by people. Outside of Optimus, she had little idea what to do with an amorous mech. She didn't know what a culturally acceptable way to reject him was. She didn't know if the hulking brute would even accept rejection, and considering the violations he had already made, she wanted him the get the message and get it fast.

She chose the only option she knew would work. Dropping her hand to her thigh, fingers near the small blaster that was housed underneath her armor. She glared murderously at him. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Hey, hey. Throttle down," Hound cajoled while trying to move between her and Warpath. Velocity just sneered.

The big mech bellowed with raucous laughter. The sound hurt her adios and went straight to her processor, bouncing in her cranial plates with sharp pings and stabbing dings. She had already had a long day and was starting to burn into her fuel reserves.

She didn't want to be here. She wanted to head home and curl up next to her mate and forget about irate humans, Prowl, and that one woman that screamed at her and 'Bee while trying to chase them off her lawn with a couple of good sprays from the water hose like they were some sort of stray animals. She didn't need any of this. She was tired.

Warpath snickered. "Femme foreplay. Primus how I have missed that."

That's it. She was done, finished, kaput, and her last nerve wasn't frayed, it was _gone_.

Glancing to the tank Bot, she noticed a gap in his armor and got an idea. She did just as Hound had suggested, but not in the way he meant, and smiled with a wicked sweetness. Stepping forward, she realized exactly how big Warpath was as she tilted her head back to look up at the enormous mech. Apprehension trickled through her and she questioned her own sanity, but she was not going to tolerate such behavior.

"You say you want to swap a little paint, big fella?" She idly dragged her hand along her thigh and rested it on a hip, within easy reach of her blaster, while shifting her weight seductively. The utility workers whistled and cat called her. She glared at them, and the comments stopped immediately.

"Oh ho yeah." Warpath stepped closer, his electrical field all but manhandling her. She felt like a high school girl at a frat party, and it wasn't terribly glamorous or pleasant.

"Ok, stud," Velocity pushed closer, smiling with viper green optics, "but, before you and I go find a quiet little corner to get acquainted in, why don't you try and catch me?" She spun. Lashing out with one leg with a perfect round-house kick, the talons on her foot sprung out of their housings and lodged deep within the Autobot's knee. The femme paused for less than a human heart beat as she used all of her strength to shred the hydraulic line crippling her unwanted suitor. As her foot came free and the fluids sprayed from the wound, she hit the dirt and rolled to standing position with the grace of a predator. The amorous mech stepped to make a desperate gab for her and his knee buckled. Trying to catch himself, Warpath over corrected and with a yelp of surprise as he fell backwards. The humans scattering as his shadow loomed over them. The utility truck that had been parked behind him shrieked out a hideous death cry as the massive Cybertronian flattened it, igniting the fuel tank and resulting in a deafening explosion.

Velocity hadn't seen the truck. The femme went instantly from anger to mortification, and her features sunk with her mood. Set a glow by the flickering reds and golds of the blaze she threw her hands in the air she let out a torrent of barely articulated words that described her feelings about herself, Warpath and the universe in general.

::Wheeljack to V. I have this great idea, and I need you to distract Prowl for me::

The femme's comm. line brought the full scope of the excitement in the engineer's voice to her internal audio system. The last thing she wanted was to talk to Prowl…or Optimus. The thought of just wandering off into the desert like a biblical saint sounded very appealing to her, the only problem was that biblical saints were typically wise, and she was fairly certain that she was as far from wise as one could get at the moment.

:: 'Jack, do what you gotta do, but leave me out:: She sent back, letting all of the frustration she felt in her voice taint the message.

The monstrous mech was trying to roll free of the burning vehicle, and extinguish the fire around him at the same time. He was scorched and bits of his armor were charred and smoldering, but he seemed none the worse for wear, other than he couldn't stand up. Velocity felt the reassuring hand of Hound gently rub her back. "Don't worry none, I put a call in to Prowl. Considering how Warpath is known to get, everyone's going to write this off as a 'no harm, no foul' for you."

Mantled by the roaring gas fire, Warpath bellowed another laugh. "Oh Primus, that was a riot. Hound, I need another glimpse of that fiery little femme. I feel a burning desire for her! Primus, ahm in love!"

Velocity just buried her face in her hands and moaned piteously. This was not the impression she wanted to make.

_**XxxX.**_

"V said we can do it," the engineer hollered to his co-conspirator.

Cosmos frowned and wobbled back and forth a little. "Why do we have to have the approval of Velocity? Shouldn't we ask Prime instead?"

Wheeljack wiggled his brow arches nefariously and clapped his friend on the back. "Trust me. Getting Velocity's permission is almost as good as getting the Prime's. Have you been moping so much you haven't noticed anything? Now help me out with this."

Cosmos accepted the box of small receivers; shaped like metal alligator heads, the wide mouths would easily clip onto the exposed circuit of electrical transformers, allowing the orbital emitter to power directly into the systems without needing to connect to the sub-stations directly. There were larger ones for the sub stations themselves, to support the active lines that had already been restored. These were about the size of the engineer's hands, formidable and more than capable of handling the powerful current that would course through them. "Okay, so the emitter science seems sound to me, but I foresee a problem."

"Do tell, my vertically challenged friend." Wheeljack snickered at the wobbly dance that Cosmos was performing, shifting from side to side in an attempt to stabilize the world around him.

"Well, I don't see how we're going to get the solar energy transmitter into sustained orbit." The scientist looked over his friend's design with a skeptical, drifting eye. "It looks sound, based on your drawings. But I don't think you can shoot it into space like you did with Shooting Star." Cosmos scratched the top of his head, while he slumped against the wall in defeat. "I understand that once the transmitter connects with the satellite, it will in essence erase the humans' programming and install our own, but the power load that we will be sending through it will fry its circuits. Shouldn't we retro-fit it to handle the energy out put?"

Wheeljack snapped his fingers in mock annoyance; the sound rang out like two metal rods being struck together. "You're right! How could I have overlooked such a simple thing! Ooh Cosmos," the engineer overacted his woeful realization in cinematic splendor, "How will we ever restore power to the humans now? All those millions of squishies, stuck freezing in their homes, unable to do anything! Poor wretches all!"

"Oh no!" Cosmos plunged back into his melancholy, "There has to be something we could do!"

"No…wait!" Wheeljack grabbed his stocky friend by the shoulders, "maybe there is one thing! But…" He paced away, "It will never work."

"Wait. Maybe it can!" Cosmos grabbed the engineer, pleading, "I have to make up for what I have done! Please, Wheeljack, we have to try!"

"The only way…is if you fly it up there yourself!" Wheeljack cycled his vents, "But you have been grounded, that isn't possible!" Burying his face in his hands, Wheeljack watched Cosmos through the gap in his fingers.

The scientist stared at his hands; on one hand, Orion had grounded him because he had done so much wrong by the humans. On the other hand, by taking to the air, he could fix the problems caused in his name, and ideally that would lift the ban on his flight protocols. If he could just fix things, make the humans not afraid of him, he could fly freely, and fixing the damage to the power grid would endear him. Solving their problems would make him a good 'Bot in their eyes. Right? "Wheeljack?"

"What is it Cosmos?" The engineer lifted his mournful face to view his friend.

Cosmos stuffed the box of parts into the engineer's hands, grabbing the transmitter, "I will do it. For the good of the humans. Don't try to stop me."

"Wheeljack's only response was to transmit a map of the Earth's outer spheres to the communications expert. "Follow the dotted lines, and move the entire thing to where the big 'X' is."

_**XxxX.**_

Ironhide watched the thick-bodied Autobot totter onto the runway and open a panel on his forearm. The weapons specialist sighed in resignation as Cosmos started tapping away and he heard the sputtering hum of nacelle engines as they powered up. The scientist looked around sheepishly and listed to one side before he righted himself.

The black mech wasn't in the mood for any foolishness. "What the frag do you think you're doing!" he yelled across the concrete. The silvery-green flier spun in panic, searching for the source to his voice. Ironhide stood up and stepped out of the shadows between two buildings, the brilliant magentas and oranges of the sunset reflecting off his polished armor. "Didn't Prime order you to keep your feet on the ground?"

Cosmos was tall enough he could look the veteran warrior optic to optic, but he still flinched under the assertive gaze of Prime's oldest friend. "Nothing and yes," he answered with defensive guilt while glancing away submissively.

Ironhide scrutinized the other mech. "Oh really, if you aren't up to something, then I'm Megatron's progeny." Reaching out, he grabbed hold of Cosmos' armor and pulled him off balance, which wasn't to hard considering the overcharged stated the heavier mech was in. "I think we need to go see Optimus."

_**XxxX**_

Prime stepped through the blast doors, and the chaos that greeted him was astounding. He had absolutely no idea how the engineer could find anything much less create such amazing inventions in the haphazard environment that was Wheeljack's workshop. The heaping piles appeared to be nothing more than junk; stripped wires, circuit boards, diodes, gears, unidentifiable bits of metal, plastic and bits of something that he could have sworn was wood, were everywhere. The refuse covered almost every surface, and to his immediate left was what appeared to be a human refrigerator lying on its back and filled to capacity with finely ground glass. He paused and stared, his processor trying to override his need for understanding. Some things were best left alone. Optimus moved the center of the room, where it was relatively free of clutter and reminded himself not to touch anything.

Ironhide was waiting for him. The weapons specialist was leaning against a work bench holding an unidentifiable box in his hand. Upon seeing Optimus, he plunked it on the hard surface with a resounding thud. Cosmos emitted a strangled moan from where he was sitting with his head buried in his arms, obviously suffering the cruel aftereffects of consuming too much of Sideswipe's "special" high grade. Prime couldn't prove it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the twins were lacing it with gasoline, for it was far stronger than anything they ever produced on Cybertron.

Rubbing his face, he wondered what was so important that Cosmos would blatantly disregard a direct order. That was completely out of character for the scientist, of all the mechs that Optimus knew, Cosmos was one of the most complying. Not that he didn't have a stubborn streak; he did, it just took extraordinary situations to bring it out of him. Cutting his optics he could see that Wheeljack seemed more annoyed than anything.

"Explain," the Prime demanded in a smooth, dark baritone.

Cosmos shocked everyone by raising his head wearily. "It is quite simple, sir. The humans are without power and by researching their own technology Wheeljack has discovered a way to quickly, and efficiently restore electricity to the entire state of Nevada. All I had to do was rendezvous with a telecommunications satellite and commandeer it for our purposes…" The space fairing mech looked like he was going to say something else; but instead, he wrapped his hands around his head and moaned. Optimus motioned for Ironhide to take Cosmos to his quarters so he could wallow in energon-induced misery without an audience. Prime was concerned about the scientist's mental state, but right now he other things to deal with…like a rogue engineer whose ideas, while well meaning, weren't always thought out completely.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at 'Jack. "Now that we are alone, I would like a full explanation, and do not attempt to dissimulate."

"Your mate said I could." The engineer shot back with obvious petulance.

Optimus just stared at the other mech, while keeping his features neutral but firm. He had little doubt that Velocity had said something, but he knew better than to assume that she had given Wheeljack permission to do anything other than stick a random object up his tailpipe. "She did? I highly doubt that," he said in a tone that dripped with an unspoken threat.

"Well, of course she did. Do you actually think I would put this much time and effort into something that I thought I wouldn't be allowed to carry through with it?"

"Yes," came the Prime's flat response.

The inventor's shoulders slumped and defeat radiated off of him, while his optics reflected his crestfallen mood. Optimus felt a ping of sympathy, but he would never allow the engineer to know it. For all of his faults and blatant disregards for the rules, Wheeljack was an honest mech. He couldn't lie to save his aft from the Smelting Fires of the Pit if he had to. Optimus had learned long ago to rely upon this quirk to keep 'Jack in line. The white Autobot might attempt some insane stunts, but he would readily share his ideas and plans with anyone that asked. During the first few vorns of the war, that…openness has caused a great deal of trouble for the Autobots, until the amicable mech learned to tell his enemies from his allies. It was a hard lesson that had almost cost the engineer his life.

Soft blue optics looked upwards and met steady azure ones, then flicked away quickly. "Well, if you would let me explain…" Wheeljack whined a little.

"Then explain," the Prime stated calmly while shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Those two words had an immediate effect on the scientist; he stood taller as pride shot through his frame and brightened his optics. Optimus resisted the urge to moan. This was going to be… interesting.

"Ok. You know how you said that we weren't allowed to share a lot of our technology with the humans unless you approved of it?" Wheeljack stated merrily.

Optimus resisted the urge to sigh. "I am well aware of my edicts."

Optics squinted in a smile. "And you know that the humans are without electrical power at the current moment?"

Silence filled the room as the Prime of Cybertron waited for the inventor to continue. He was quite informed of the humans' current situation. A situation that was brought about the Autobot that was standing before him, and he refused to voice that overtly obvious fact. A slow blink of his optic shutters was sufficient to get his point across.

Wheeljack visibly stalled for a second, and looked away nervously. That was more…acceptable. He didn't want the inventor to think that he was out of trouble, just because he was willing to listen to the logic behind this current glitch-headed scheme.

The pearlescent mech sighed. "There was a human inventor named Nikola Tesla. He proposed that electricity could be transmitted over long distances without the aid of a conductor such as a wire. I have reevaluated his patents and found a way to make his theories of Wireless Energy Transmission work, and without adding any of our own technology. It is a quick and convenient way to return power to the humans."

Optimus kept his arms crossed over his chest and a no-nonsense glare in his optics, but it was hard. Wheeljack was just trying to solve a problem in the best way possible. Unfortunately, he didn't always think his plans through. "And what has this to do with Cosmos breaking a direct order?"

The Autobot winced a little. "He could attach the receiver clamps on the necessary access points along the power grid faster than a ground based mech. Also, he is the only one that could commandeer the satellite that would broadcast the electrical beam."

The last sentence was mumbled so badly that Optimus almost misunderstood it. "WHAT?" He shook his head once and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Are you telling me that you were going to steal a satellite to pull off this…plan?"

"Oh, we weren't going to steal it, it was going to stay in orbit. We were just reprogramming it and moving it a bit." Wheeljack raised his hand and used index finger and thumb to show how little they were moving the satellite.

Prime rubbed his head wearily. "No."

"But Optimus, it would greatly…."

"I said, no. First off, you cannot just take a satellite. The humans use those for a multitude of purposes…" Prime started.

"I know that. I had already planed to have an old Soviet…"

Optimus stuck his finger in the smaller mech's chest and growled threateningly. "Do NOT interrupt me when I am speaking." Wheeljack blanched visibly. "First, you cannot steal, take, borrow, utilize, tweak, or in anyway manipulate the function a satellite that _we _have not put into orbit. Second, if you do this for the State of Nevada, you have to do this for the whole of humanity. That means you have to supply electricity to all seven billion humans that inhabit this planet. Some of these people live in conditions that we consider primitive and simple. They don't even have the basic wiring in their houses to utilize your… generosity. It is not our place to force them to change their lives and cultures or to revamp their technology just because we think that we can make it better. Third, the United States asked for Cosmos to remain on the ground, and I agreed. You could have made your friend appear to be a renegade mech and force the Defense Department to attempt to neutralize him…" Prime stopped his tirade. He was frustrated enough and was starting to raise his voice at the engineer. Cycling his vents deeply, he forced himself to calm down. Yelling at his mechs was not something he liked to stoop to, even when they disserved it. "Just answer me this; was Anthony Melby involved in this?"

Wheeljack moved to put the work table between the two of them and Optimus felt his spark sink. He had never used violence to keep his subordinates in line, but his brother had and he knew of many Autobots that had fallen into disfavor of the High Lord Protector before the war started. "No, sir. I had him working on the numbers for the containment matrix for the stasis chamber for the Allspark."

Optimus nodded. He softened his features and made his body relax. Wheeljack had at one time, been assigned to the Cybertronian Military and answered directly to Megatron. In a casual voice he asked, "Have you heard from the physicist lately?"

The scientist shrugged, relaxing a little. "Naw, his flight won't land for a few more minutes, and then he was going to spend some time with his family. I was going to contact him tomorrow….Why?"

"I would like to talk with him. If you can reach him tonight, please let me know. Otherwise tomorrow will be acceptable." Optimus turned to leave and paused to look over his shoulder. "'Jack, next time run your ideas past me first." Optimus walked out of the workshop wondering how many times he had said _those_ words to the engineer.

_**XxxX**_

A/N: To **Nova Myth** - Sorry, that is what happens when I create a character and then forget what he was suppose to do (didn't want another Chip Chase). Oh, yes, the stories will be spread through out the land. To **Library DroneSAR** - Thank you and chocolate chip is it :). Prowl has his own motivations and no not _those _motivations. He is still grieving and has a skewed outlook right now. To **Taluliaka** - Here is some OP for you. Get some sleep, I like Rorshach, but he is best enjoyed from a SAFE distance. Thank you. To **Raine Tski-san** - Yes, thing will start moving along, and the plot thickens. The Autobots do and will have their hands full, to the point they might not be sure which way is up. Thank you.


	24. Meditation

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Co-authored with **Benjamin Bradt**.

Beta read by** Okami-myrrhibis **and** Okami-Chan**. Thank you for ripping this chapter apart and telling me what was wrong.

I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. RL has made many many demands of my time lately.

_**XxxX.**_

_**Meditation**_

_**XxxX**_

He watched with detached interest as the human male argued with the female. They shouted at each other as they stood less that an arn from him. If they did not stop that slagging noise, he'd run them over just for a little quiet, even his patience had its limits. Without warning, the male struck his mate across the face. The woman stumbled a couple of steps before she collapsed onto the ground in an undignified, wailing heap. That attracted the Decepticon's full attention, and the mech felt a tiny tickle of approval towards the human's actions. It was refreshing to see that some knew how to deal with haughty femmes. He had studied enough of the human culture to know that they considered their females the weaker species, therefore requiring the protection of the superior males. He also knew that the femalesserved…just like the femmes of Cybertron, that had originated as a servant race, but quickly viewed themselves as equals and shucked off their bonds to stand alongside the mechs, or at least that was how the tale went. No one could verify from where the femmes originated or to what purpose, some have even suggested that several femmes numbered among the original thirteen; but that only mattered if someone actually believed in the ancient mythology of Primus. Either way, they had been a thorn in the side of the Decepticons until Megatron had them exterminated.

Hardcore watched as the man stalked back to his truck and kicked the side of it. The 'Con chuckled to himself. At the moment, he saw no reason to interfere in the lives of the two animals.

They stayed this way for a while; the man shouting at the woman as he occasionally smacked the side of his rust covered truck to punctuate his inane rantings. The woman sat on the ground crying while a ghost-gray Aston Martin silently watched the insignificant drama unfolded. The woman tried to stand, placing a blood and snot covered hand on his hood. Hardcore did not flinch as the female's hand smeared the slick mucus along his paint. The muck would wash off easily enough, and anyways, remaining hidden was more pressing than seeking revenge for such insults.

Bored, he scanned the woman, wanting to know how much damage a human male could inflict upon another of his species with a single blow. The lack of anything more than superficial damage disappointed him, but he did register the wad of cells buried deep in the woman's body and he promptly lost all respect for the male.

­Didn't humans understand the simple principles of breeding? The strong never propagate with the weak, and this male had mated with this sniveling femme and produced another one of their kind. Cybertronians understood the nature of breeding…those of them that chose to attempt procreation. They only bonded with those that they felt were their equal, and ignored those they deem lesser. He changed his mind; the human male was too stupid to understand and didn't garner his attention, no matter how slight.

Hardcore went back to watching the highway and those that traveled along it. Unlike many of his brethren, he didn't find the humans disgusting, but he didn't particularly like them either. Homo sapiens, as the referred to themselves, came into being on this world just as Cybertronians came into existence upon Cybertron. The fact remained that once the Decepticons finished off the Autobots, they would claim this resource rich planet for themselves and the humans would be no more. The stronger took what it needed from the weak; it was the law of the universe.

Ignoring the hands of the woman as she used him to hold herself upright, he turned his attention back to his mission. Hardcore had nothing but a hunch to work with, and no way to predict when or where his target was going to show, but by studying the traffic patterns to and from the Autobot base, he identified several likely paths that Reginald Simmons could take in his travels. He would have preferred to position his team closer, but that increased the likelihood of the enemy spotting them. The parking lot of a large human mercantile building had a sufficient view of the nearby interstate and quick access to it. Now if the humans would stop touching him, he could enjoy absorbing some solar radiation to fuel his cells.

He chuckled quietly to himself, at times the Autobots acted as their own worst enemies. By blowing out the power grid and the Prime's sanctimonious needs, the Autobots had left their defenses wide open and he planed to take full advantage of it. Hardcore couldn't process why Prime had kept the power to his base turned off. They had finished the necessary repairs, and he saw no need for the Autobots to live like unskilled neutrals. A situation created out of foolishness and contrived humility, but that was the nature of Optimus Prime; he had to make sacrifices to appease those that should have been beneath his notice.

Overdrive waited in a less populated area and Thundercracker had tucked himself well away from prying eyes_. _Had an organic caressed either one of those violently tempered Decepticons they would have blown several fuses and leveled the nearby building and everything around it, giving away their positions. Nope, he knew that hiding in close contact to the humans would fall to him.

He needed to constantly remind his partners that it might take a while for his tactics to come to fruition but when it did, they would return to Soundwave with the prize and reap the rewards for their achievement. He had to be successful in this mission to have the councilor's support, for without it, he had little chance of unseating Barricade and off lining that mech for the last time. He had little doubt about his fighting prowess, and he knew the shock trooper capabilities, and the odds weren't in his favor, but he had a plan to even things up. Hardcore had accepted that he would sustain heavy damage and could easily perish from his wounds if Soundwave didn't find him worthy and spend the time and trouble to repair him afterwards. It was a gamble, but a gamble he feltcertain that he could win.

Turning his attention back to the road, he scanned any vehicle matching the description of the one the target was known to drive, or any that resembled a verified Autobot alternate form. This would take a while, but he had nothing but time. He would succeed and he would be victorious.

_**XxxX **_

::Velocity, report to my office now::

The precise words of the tactician filled the crimson femme's audios. Sighing, she turned the handle and shut the water off in the washing station. It had been a long day and the water had just reached the perfect temperature for blissfully, indulgent shower. She had waited until the other mechs were finished before she took her turn in the cleaning stalls, so Prowl had better have a damned good reason for calling her now. Whether a fifteen-foot tall mechanoid or a flesh bound woman, she still insisted on bathing alone. Hanging her head and with shoulders rolled forward in dejection, she sulked across the base.

Entering the SIC's office, her optics lingered on the scene before her. The black and white mech sat at his desk, hands clasped before him and a stern look on his face. Ironhide's imposing form leaned just inside the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and his posture rigid and intimidating. Optimus surprised her the most; the towering mech looked almost guilty as he smiled wanly at her and then looked away. She snapped to attention, a tingle started at the base of her spinal support and crawled upward, making her want to leave the room as fast as she could.

The soft hiss of the door closing behind her made her jump.

"I suppose you are wondering why you have been called to this meeting?" Prowl said, his tone neutral.

Velocity crossed her arms over her chest defensively and shifted her weight to one foot. "Yeah, you could say that," she responded with open suspicion.

The police cruiser flicked his optics over her shoulder and back to her. The gesture happenedso rapidly that, she almost didn't catch it_. _

Her guard went up. Ironhide stood behind her and while she trusted the mech, she wasn't stupid. Shifting, she moved to where she could keep all three mechs in view.

"Velocity, I am going to ask you some questions and I would like for you to answer them with complete honesty."

Complete understanding washed over them femme. She could accept accountability for totaling a truck, but she was not going to assume all of the responsibility for that fiasco. "Ok. If this is about the truck, I'll do whatever you…" she waved her hand to include the threesome around her "…think is necessary to set things right with the humans, but I'm not gonna take all the blame. Warpath needs to learn to keep his hands to himself."

A dark, deadly expression flashed across her mate's facial features, and then just as quickly disappeared. She felt nothing from their bond; he must have been blocking it completely.

"This is not about the incident with Warpath. You were called here to discuss why you felt the need to approve Wheeljack's latest... project," the Autobot said the last word as if it left a foul taste in is mouth.

In femme stood in shocked silence. Her processor raced in circles trying to figure out what Prowl was talking about. "I didn't…" she tried to say.

"According to Cosmos's report, you openly gave he and Wheeljack clearance…"

" But, I…"

"… To carry forward with their intentions of…"

"I never said…"

"… Overhauling the Nevada municipal power grid..."

"How could they..."

"...which entailed the theft of not one but two..."

"What the hell..."

"...satellites. One being a telecommunications satellite and the other a remnant of the..."

"That is bullshit! Neither one of them ever approached me about anything like that." she snapped.

Prowl made a pained expression and then straightened his features before continuing. "At approximately thirteen hundred hours today you received a private communiqué from Wheeljack in which you replied 'do what you have to do'. I believe that that can be interpreted as giving someone permission."

"What! How can anyone think that I would give 'Jack permission to do shit?" Ironhide made a strained gurgling sound and she spun to face the black mech. A convulsion racked his entire frame, and his features pinched tightly together. She looked back at Prowl and caught sight of his carefully schooled features beginning to twitch under the strain of holding his expression in place. She refused to look at Optimus, that would have been too much. A cold revelation froze her to her spot, they were trying not to laugh while she scrambled around in an attempt to find verbal traction and defend herself against…nothing.

Throwing her hands into air, Velocity let out a torrent of incoherent syllables in her native tongue to express her displeasure at the universe in general. They _were _making fun of her. Optimus would argue that they needed to make light of the situation, but she _felt like_ they were laughing at her and she loathed being humiliated. Turning abruptly, she walked out, leaving the members of the inner circle to crack jokes at her expense… without her. The automatic door to Prowl's office quietly hissed open and then just as quietly closed behind her. Velocity didn't like the automated doors of the base; there was no way to slam them.

Stalking to her quarters, she entered the room Optimus had allowed her to turn into her workshop. This was her sanctuary, this was her area to do as she pleased and no one bothered her here. Several crates of oddities she had nicked from Wheeljack's shop lined one wall and the bunk held an assortment of tools she had tossed upon it. In the center of the room rested her current project. Pacing in circles, she ranted and fumed about deranged mechs and their twisted ideas of what humor was. She snarled and raged about Wheeljack and his side kick, Cosmos, referring to both of them as anything but sentient being. She even voiced how easy it would be to turn this lot of mechanoids into motor homes for blue-haired retirees.

Snatching a mallet up she slung it across the room with the intent of enjoying a solid "thud" as it bounced off the wall, instead her audios echoed with the resonating bell-tones of metal striking metal. Spinning, she lunged to catch the in-progress sculpture before it crashed to the ground. In a blur of motion she had the metalwork safely wrapped in her arms before any more damage could befall it.

She cycled her vents deeply and forced herself to step back from the sharp, red edge of anger. This probably wasn't the safest room to throw a snarling hussy in. With slow, deliberate movements she returned the unfinished artwork to its stand forced herself to remain perfectly still for a full ten minutes.

When the time was up, she was still furious…well angry… perhaps annoyed, and she still had pent up energy. Scanning the area around her, she decided that she would just stay there for now. Standing with her hands on her hips, she looked at the sculpture. The graceful lines and sensual curves were finally starting to take shape. The stag was leaping high into the air, in an attempt to vault over the galaxy, but in its current, unfinished state, the creature looked like some sort of half-formed, metal skeleton that was about to attack and chew someone's face off. She ran a loving hand over the statue; it was the most ambitious thing she had ever tried to create. She had no idea what to do with it once it was completed, probably melt it down and start something new.

Picking up a couple of tools in one hand, she grabbed her stool with the other and sat down. Turning on her welder, the femme sat to work attaching a delicately bent foreleg to the deep chest. The hardness of the metal in her hands drew her attention away from the here and now and into a world made up of steel-grays, iron-blacks, tungsten-blues and the way they melded and blended. It felt good to work with her hands, the perfect outlet for her frustrations. She knew that if she could just stay here and work in solitude, that all of her anger would leach into the statue and she would feel calmer and think clearer. Her ire fueled her skills and using her skills calmed her soul.

Velocity wasm in another place and another time, lost in the focus of her concentration, even though her body sat rooted to a small shop stool. A large hand quietly slipped under her arm and pressed against her chest, right over her spark chamber. The knowing touch brought her back, and she silently cursed herself for letting him slip up on her like that. His cheek grazed the top of her head. "You are mad." He said it as a statement, not a question.

Velocity continued working even though Optimus wrapped another massive arm around her waist. "I don't like being made fun of. I get enough humiliation without you serving me more." She said flatly, as she shifted to look under the leg she had just attached, checking the weld seam. His arms allowed her to move, but they didn't relinquish their hold.

"I wasn't making fun of you, and I apologize if you took it that way."

The femme snorted her disgust.

The hand cupping her chest began caressing; attempting to entice her with the small strokes, but they only served to annoy her. She swatted the hand and it fell away in defeat.

"Velocity, please," her mate started, "I didn't mean to upset you. It has always been customary to chide whomever Wheeljack says gave him permission to do something. When I first became Prime he asked me a question and I was too distracted to pay him much attention, so I only nodded. The next thing I know, the Council directly blamed me for the explosion that wiped out the energon stores on Kalis. Jack's only comment was'Prime said I could'".

The meek smile Optimus gave her and the sincerity of his words didn't move her one iota. She rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. "I could have done without the chiding. My day was crappy enough without your help. Between Warpath, Wheeljack, exploding trucks and… "Velocity never finished her sentence. Turning, she glared at him, but he spoke first.

"I could announce our relationship and I assure you the harassment would stop. It would save you from having to endure the likes of Warpath, and I could openly…"

"Yeah. That's a good idea," she said, her voice dripping with lethal sarcasm as her shoulders shook in silent, humorless laughter. "I might as well slap a target to my chest and go skipping up to the 'Cons." Optimus winced and she immediately regretted her choice of words; that had stung him in a deep and unhealed wound. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

He sighed. "I know you didn't mean it.… I don't want to argue with you."

"Optimus, right now, I'm too tired to care if we argue or not." Turning slightly she angled so that she could actually see her mate. His arms still embraced her

"Ratchet was impressed with the damage you did to Warpath."

Velocity gave a small bark of laughter in disbelief. Leave it to him to try to change the subject. She just wanted solitude. Pushing her mate away, she stood. Handing Optimus her torch, she walked out of the room. She thought she felt his mournful gaze watch her leave.

_**XxxX.**_

She found herself standing beside the enormous carcass of the Ark. The great ship sat forlorn and alone in the barren valley, while the moon hung overhead, round and bloated, casting its cold light along the curves of the ship, making it appear ghostly and ethereal. As she walked along the length of the craft, she ran her hand across the hull, feeling every little mar and imperfection. From a distance, the moonlight shimmered across the Ark's sleek, pristine surface, but it was an illusion, for close up dings and scratches covered the hull. Collisions from millions of minute pieces of space debris. Larger scars and wounds told of battles with the Decepticons while in the cold vacuum. She let her fingertips play along the groves and gouges, feeling them as she slowly walked along; letting her mind wonder where it wished and resisting the urge to let a little of herself slip into the exotic, alien metal of the dead leviathan that came from across the stars.

The alloy that skinned the outside of the Ark was so different from what made her body, different from Optimus. The outer armor of the Ark seemed incredibly dense, strong, unyielding and in her mind's eye creamy and succulent. A contradiction to everyone else, but to her, it made sense.

She slowly made her way along the mile or so length of the massive spacecraft, reading the stories that time had etched into its skin, her taloned feet padded softly in the arid dirt. Rounding the nose of the Ark, she saw a figure cut into the night. The thick silhouette of Cosmos stood with his back to her, head tilted to the stars that filled the heavens. She followed his gaze upwards. The stars shone clearer than she'd seen them in her entire life, no longer clouded by the light pollution of the cities nearby.

Every color imaginable blended and melded together into a velvety canvas that stretched for eternity. Dotted against the fabric of creation, trillions of diamond stars twinkled and danced, while the thick ribbon of the of the Milky Way galaxy seemed to wrap the Earth in its spiraling arms. The subtle variations of colors and hues filtered through the atmosphere and down to her optics, through her processor, almost reaching into her spark. They winked and laughed at her, daring her to comprehend their breadth and magnitude from her tiny speck of dirt in the universe. Velocity stood underneath the snub nose of the Ark, losing herself and her cares to the glory that domed above her. She never saw her companion turn and look at her, yellow optics glowing in the shadowed face. The mech took a step towards her, his movement blaring across her sensors, dropping her back down to Earth.

"I…I'm sorry," the green Autobot stammered.

Velocity just waved his apology away, Cosmos had become just another victim of the over exuberant, rule bending, nut-job commonly referred to as Wheeljack. Twice now, the engineer had taken advantage of her inexperience, and she coddled heinous thoughts about terminating the opalescent mech. She didn't know why no one had already killed the engineer. If 'Jack normally pulled stunts like this, than surely _someone _must have made an attempt on his life. She wondered if the only reason no one had off lined him yet was because the Prime tolerated his antics.

"Hope you don't mind if I join you." Without waiting for an answer, she gracefully lowered herself to a seated position crossing her legs for comfort. Tilting her head upwards, she could see the slight confusion in the mech's optics.

The valley stretched out around them, but she ignored the western vista. Shuttering her optics, she turned inwards, connecting to the bond she shared with Optimus. He caressed against her, mournful and tender attempts to warm her with his apologies. She could feel the depth of his remorse, but she detected something…else. A nameless quality that she had felt in him all day even though he attempted to hide it from her. She gingerly brushed along his protected thoughts and he gently moved her away. She let him. Something bothered him, and in due time he would tell her, she had little doubt in this. Sighing, she realized how hard it wasto remain angry with anyone that coursed through her soul as strongly as he did. Over a private comm., he told her not to stay out too late, and she told him not to work too hard.

The ground shook with the impact of several tones of mechanoid metal. Opening her shutters, she saw the ungainly mech attempting to lower himself to the ground; she averted her eyes to save them both the embarrassment. Glancing back at the sudden onslaught of silence, she saw that Cosmos had situated himself to mimic her pose. She sat in silence, unsure what to say to him. Finally, Velocity's curiosity got the better of her. "What is it like out there…in space?" she asked, turning her attention to the slowly spinning firmament above.

The explorer stared openly at her for several astroseconds; yellow optics appeared to analyze her closely. Confusion and shock crossed his features before he blinked his optic shutters.

"It is where, we Cybertronians, are meant to be. We are resilient enough to endure the riggers of space and explore the harshest of environments. Few species are as long lived as we are and that is crucial in traveling amongst the stars. We were made to explore." The Mech pointed upwardswith a stubby finger,and to Velocity, it looked as if he was pointing to the shadowy rift within the Milky Way. "Space…is wondrous, a diverse dichotomy. It is beautiful and rich, filled with vast worlds and awe-inspiring phenomena that makes one thankful for every nanosecond of operation; but at times, it can be cold and unwelcoming, lonely. It brings a new perspective to one's place in the macrocosm, creates an awareness that… as large as we seem to be to other species, we are but a speck in the face of eternity."

The femme continued gazing into forever, wondering how it felt to step foot on an alien world for the first time. Overhead, the thick ribbon of the galaxy wrapped the Earth in its spiraling arms. Her optics picked up subtle variations of colors and hues of the flickering stars. She saw the fiery crimsons of the red giants that were larger than her entire solar system. She lavished in the yellows of stars similar to Sol, whose steady warmth fueled the life on her world. The rich blues and intense whites of smaller shorter-lived stars filtered through the atmosphere to her. Also present were oranges, greens, and unnamed colors, all waiting for someone to just willing look up and take it all in. The heavens were just as moving awe-inspiring as the vastness of the ocean, the turbulent violence of a thunderstorm, or the soft, purity of a heavy snow. This serene grandeur was there, every night for anyone... anyone who stopped to take the time to see beyond the glare of neon and halogen lights.

Velocity felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Fixing him with her green optics, she watched as his attention drifted away before coming back; either he was running a precautionary scan or something internal had caught his attention. When his yellow optics returned to their normal luminosity, she asked. "You love it out there don't you?"

"Oh, yes," he breathed out, as if the words contained nothing but sinful pleasure. She couldn't help but to laugh softly.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. She liked the odd Autobot called Cosmos, she found the air about him… calming, she had to keep reminding herself that this mech had leveled Area 51 in under a minute. She would never have been able to tell from his unassuming talk. Optimus had told her that Cosmos possessed the gentlest spark of any Cybertronian he had met, and the scientist seemed to writhe with grief when he learned about the lives lost during his frantic escape. The gears in her neck whined against the strain of tipping her head back for so long, and so she shifted to lie on her back, folding her arms behind her head as a pillow. She didn't want to look away from the dark expanse just yet. She saw the mech glance at her than turn his attention back to the nighttime sky. The crimson femme could help but sigh in relief, and relax a little more. She was tired of the stares and the hushed comments of some of the others. Gods of Creation knew that she had had enough of Warpath, and he could just belly flop into an active volcano for all she cared.

The two of them stayed that way for a while. Him sitting on his aft with his legs jutting out in front on him and her supine, and in a state of slowly, deepening relaxation.

"Are you going to fall into recharge?" Cosmos asked softy.

Velocity scrunched her facial features in overly exaggerated disgust. "Um…no."

"I was only inquiring because if you were, I assure you that…"

"It's ok. I have no intention of sleeping out here." She smiled at the earnest mech. "Just relaxing. Resetting the systems as they say."

"Ah."

Again, silence fell between them and neither seemed to mind, each lost in their own thoughts and content to be there.

Velocity interrupted the stillness. Rolling onto her side so she could face the mech, she propped herself up on an elbow "Why did you do it? Why did you go along with 'Jack's insanity?"

"Well, I was under the influence of enough high grade to sufficiently over-energize three mechs of your capacity," Cosmos said with an amused chuckle, "But even if I had been functioning within parameters, I would have complied. Wheeljack is and has always been…Wheeljack. His outlooks are often tragically skewed, often ill conceived, but they are meant with the best of intentions. At times I go along so I can try and make sure he doesn't offline himself in his enthusiasm; but this time…there were other factors to be considered."

Velocity jerked her full attention on the green mech. "I was under the impression that Wheeljack was some sort of genius. Optimus spoke of him like he was a figure of some importance."

"Oh, he is, but he can be….eccentric. Before the war, even before there were Autobots and Decepticons, he and I worked with several others in a coalition of scientific minds. Perceptor typically delegated the often times formidable task of controlling Wheeljack to Starscream or myself. Primus knows why…"

The red femme shot into a sitting position, slender hands digging into the dry ground as she pushed herself up. Quickly swinging her legs, she sat lotus style. With wide optics, leaned forward to encourage him to tell her everything he knew. "But Starscream is second in command of the Decepticons?"

"Perhaps so, but every Cybertronian has not always been as he is now. What you see before you is a tapestry most unlike the age when I was sparked. If Starscream is in such a… prestigious… position in current cycles, I highly doubt that he will be able to hold onto the title." The mech sighed wistfully. "I don't look forward to the day that his sundered chassis is discovered."

Velocity wanted to demand that the soft-spoken mech start explaining a few things when a gravelly voice stalled her verbal assault. "Yeah, we all know you two were old drinking buddies. So who got 'Jack overcharged the day he displayed that … frag, what was it called?" Ironhide commented as he walked toward the two sitting under the stars.

"It was a Double Barreled De-Ionizing Disruptor," Cosmos informed the warrior.

"That was it. The slagging piece of crap took part of Chancellor Skyfire's wing off. Primus on High, she was torqued," the weapons specialist reminisced, is optics soft points of light in the dark as they twinkled happily. The air echoed with his good-natured chuckle.

"But in Wheeljack's defense, it did perform beyond her expectations." Cosmos shared a conspiratorial snicker with Ironhide.

"Did you just say 'piece of crap'?" Velocity asked. She received an indignant snort as an answer.

Ironhide's expression hardened and the veteran continued, "The point is V…"

"Oh, fuck. That white devil has _you _calling me 'V' too."

"The point is _V_…" The black mech narrowed his optics in a very clear threat, and she muted her vocal processor, but rolled her optics for good measure. "…That you should just calm down. Warpath hasn't met a femme yet that he hasn't tried something like that with, but he wouldn't push it any further, even if he thought you might say yes. He might be a little slow in the processor, but he isn't stupid. And another thing, if Prowl wants to poke a little fun at you… let him. There are very few on this side of the Matrix that he shows that side of himself to. I'm pretty sure Optimus is the only one that has heard him laugh."

Velocity couldn't help but to listen to him, despite the mech's gruff manner, gentleness still softened his tone. She listened to him on the firing range, just like she listened to him as he taught her to protect herself...and she would listen to him now. It was becoming apparent why Prime considered the battle-scarred mech his closest friend and oldest confident. Who would have thought Ironhide could bea cannon-toting Confucius.

"But why do you put up with Wheeljack's shit?" she asked crossing her arms over her chest and looking up... way up to meet the mech's optics.

"Because he is one of us." 'Hide answered, his features as serious as she had ever seem them.

She sat in silence. She had noting to say. "_Because he is one of us"_ made perfect and absolute sense. It had nothing to do with skill or achievement, but camaraderie. 'Jack belonged because he was here, and for no other reason. Velocity understood what his words implied, they also put up with her because she was one of them. A shroud of intoxicating devotion warmed her from her bond with Optimus, it flared in her optics and it definitely infected her mood. The sneaky bastard likely had an audio feed transmitting so Prime could be included in the conversation; they should be glad she loved them both...a whole lot. She should probably but remain hostile and irate... just for general measures... but her earlier umbrage had faded, and it would take considerable effort to re-ignite her full anger. Exhausted, she couldn't refute Optimus trying his dead level best to change her mood. Some times, it made more sense to just give in and roll along, so she did. She could feel her mate's triumph as she relinquished the dying flames of her anger to him.

She had to taunt the mech…just a little. "So, Mr. Wise-And-Insightful, how did grumpy, sarcastic, by-the-rules Ratchet and friendly, slightly insane, what-rules Wheeljack ever get together in the first place?"

Ironhide smirked at her, understanding flashing in his optics. "I'll tell you a little something about bonded pairs, no matter how different they seem on the outside they are very similar deep on the inside. Beyond that you can ask them for the details, I have no interest in what other mechs do in dark hallways."

The smile slid off her face as his words raised more questions. She quickly replaced her grin for the sake of continuing the charade, they had a third party there that that did not have a clue what was going on, and didn't need to know. An emotional tug pulled at her connection to her mate; he was calling her to him. Turning inward she playfully swatted him away; the stubborn mech pulled at her with even more vigor. A small chuckle escaped her vocals and two Autobots stared at her. One with blatant curiosity and the other with a knowing smirk. How fortunate for her that her metal skin wouldn't blush, as embarrassment burned through her systems, the thought of Ironhide knowing what Optimus played at was…awkward.

She ducked her head, and shoved her mate away once more, and once more, he ignored her and continued to flutter and tease. He wanted her by his side, and he wanted her there now.

"…Prowl have the Tear Down Roster up?" Cosmos asked. Velocity had missed part of a conversation and she attempted to alter her focus from internal to external, but the ghostly caresses increased, making that nearly impossible.

"I'm pretty sure he will assign teams in the next couple of days. Optimus wants the Ark cut apart and stored as soon as possible. Primus knows we need the scrap to machine replacement parts from," Ironhide answered, running a hand along the scarred outside of the spacecraft.

Prime's mood suddenly went dark, and she jerked as her connection to him snapped close; not even a lingering touch goodbye. Just blocked, leaving her cold and alone in her own metallic shell. Standing she stretched and started to hurry back to the base. A hand dark hand clamped onto her shoulder. "Where are you heading off to?" the warrior asked.

She forced herself to relax. Had it just been she and 'Hide, she would have been more forthcoming, but the presence of Cosmos colored the situation a little. "I'm tired and decided its time to turn in." To emphasize her words she stretched some more and forced out a fake yawn. Yellow optics glowed in disbelief, but Ironhide picked up her cue and his hand fell away. She could leave.

She bid Cosmos goodnight, he offered the walk her back to the base. Ironhide intervened and asked the green mech about someone named Hotrod, the decoy worked, and the flier shifted his attention back to the weapons specialist. Slipping away quietly, she walked until they no longer pinged on her sensor and then she took off running. Her long legs and light frame ate the distance between the Ark and home with frightening ease. She was made to run; her perfectly designed legs absorbed the recoil in each step and channeled the kinetic energy into the next; all with almost no drain on her energon levels. Had she not been so worried about her mate, she would have found the speed and grace almost narcotic. She barely noticed anything, her focus only on reaching Optimus.

Something was wrong.

_**XxxX.**_

Walking as fast as she dared, Velocity made her way down the maze-like tunnels of the underground base to reach the quarters she shared with Prime. The dimmed lighting level didn't bother her or slow her down. The calm greetings of those she passed assured her that the Decepticons hadn't attacked, so she wondered what had caused her mate to block their bond without warning.

Stopping just outside of their chambers, she paused and cycled her vents. Pressing the button to open the door she shifted her weight to one foot; leaving the other to strike at a potential assailant with.

The door softly sighed as it opened and she stepped into the outer room that Optimus used as his office. In the darkness, three sets of blue optics glowed softly. Ratchet and Wheeljack sat close to each other, so close that their shoulders rubbed together, and she detected the faint hum of mingling energy fields; allowing them to be closer than physical contact could. One was emotionally supporting the other, but their matching expressions of concern and... fear... that befuddled her attempts to discern who was comforting whom. Optimus sat at his desk, his mouth pressed together grimly, and his dark azure optics aglow with anger and worry.

Before she could ask, his voice rumbled, a threatening sound in the confined space. "Anthony Melby is missing. Wheeljack has been unable to reach him and his family has stated that he was not on his flight."

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: ****Benjamin Bradt** is no longer able to continue his role as my co-author, but the story will go on.

To** Cybernetic Mango** – Not all Autobots are sweet and understanding. Some are down right loathsome. To **Byrnsta**r – Ben is the geek that insisted on the Shooting Star reference. "Jack will be 'Jack and Velocity has a lot to learn about dealing with some of the more aggressive 'bots. Thanks you. Too **Taluliaka** – Here is more OP goodness, and he might feel jealousy, but his emotions don't rule his life. OP is also the perfect straight man. He is so unflappable at times. **Carmilla DeWinter** – Thank you for the wonderful review. I am trying to make them as real as possible.


	25. Truths, Halftruths and Boldfaced Lies

_**Rating: **_T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Beta read by Okami-myrrhibis and Okami-chan. Thank you ladies for taking the time to crit and correct for me.

_**XxxX **_

_**Truths, Half Truths and Bold Faced Lies**_

_**XxxX**_

"You should have been there, "Cliffjumper said while wind-milling his arms in imitation of the Goliath that was trying not to laugh at him. "Then crash and boom and the truck exploded and …"

"Mute it Cliffy. Primus how many times are you going to tell what happened?" Huffer groused and the red minibot's shoulders fell in dejection.

"Awe, lay off the sparkling, he just thought it was funny," Warpath interjected while picked up his fuel ration, then joined the others sitting at the table.

"Slag it, I'm not a sparkling!" Cliffjumper circled his arms around his cube of energon, hunching over the container, a mechanoid pout on his face. "I'm twice as old as 'Bee," the scout mumbled.

Huffer turned in his seat to confront the enormous tank. "Funny? You call destroying a human's vehicle funny? Primus, it is a good thing that no one was hurt in your little escapade, or Optimus would have ripped your aft off and fed it to a turbosquirrel."

The munitions expert waved a hand dismissively at the older mech. "You don't think I knew exactly where the humans were standing, exactly how much gas was in the truck's fuel tank, and exactly how large the blast radius would be? What do you take me for, a defective drone?"

Tension immediately crackled in the air as Huffer poked the larger 'Bot in the chest, readying his retort.

"Would you two shift gears," Smokescreen commented calmly after taking a sip of his energon. "I doubt anyone here wants Prowl to intervene."

Several sets of optics scanned the immediate vicinity for the SIC. The black and white mech was highly respected, and slightly feared; he had no tolerance for infighting among the troops, and dealt out swift punishment for any violators. Huffer turned his attention back to his energon. Warpath's cheerful smile never wavered. The police cruiser was nowhere nearby, so everyone visibly relaxed. A lull fell over the collected Autobots as they refueled themselves.

Finally, Cliffjumper spoke up. "So why did you fall onto the truck? Wouldn't have been easier to fall over onto the ground?"

Hound clapped the smaller scout on the shoulder. "Sympathy…plain and simple." Confused optics stared at him and then the tank. "The big glitch here, wants the femme to feel sorry for him, and shower him with her affections…isn't that about right?" Warpath nodded, still smiling an impossibly large grin, that, any wider, would split his head open, spilling his meager processor onto the floor.

"Therefore, you goad her into attacking you so she would feel remorseful and hopefully allow you to interface?" Smokescreen shook his head in disbelief. Leaning back in his seat, the sniper crossed his arms over his chest. "War, there are a couple of Unicron-sized holes in that plan."

Hound chuckled. "Such as, you are going to have to remember to limp around and act like you are in pain to get some sympathy, but I don't think that that one will be very sympathetic." The tracker went to take another sip, but his cube was empty. Frowning at it, he sat the container aside.

The tank scratched his chin. "Do you think I should have gone with the 'old war injuries' stories instead?"

"Perhaps you should ask Velocity to stand watch while you recharge, or hold your hand in battle," Huffer said with dry cynicism, and the crew of Autobots fell into peals of laughter.

"Primus, I never knew you had a sense of humor," Hound chortled. The only response was a grumbled complaint about "not being taken seriously".

"I think it will work. Did you see the look on her face? She was…what was the word Hound?" Warpath drummed his fingers on the table, searching the empty air with his optics, trying to find the answer.

"Mortified," the tracker said slowly, as if speaking to a half programmed drone. Several mechs laughed openly at the massive Autobot's expense.

The blue and red Bugatti broke the revelry. "Seriously, War. She could have injured you, and…"

"Oh, Smokes. I expected her to hit back. Frag, she wouldn't be a femme worth her weight in credits if she had let it go. I just didn't expect her to hit me where I stand. POP. POP. A couple of shots from that little blaster she keeps tucked away sure, but not FING… SLICE, and my leg doesn't work anymore. Primus, who puts claws like that on a femme? Those things look like something Wheeljack thought up when he was in a bad mood." Warpath leaned his forearms on the table and it groaned with protest; the other mechs quickly picked up their cubes and held onto them. "I mean those things could be really dangerous."

Cliffjumper stared in disbelief. "You wanted her to shoot you?"

"Well, no, but that was what Arcee always did. I just got spoiled to having a femme take a few pot-shots at my aft," the tan mech said with a shrug.

Cliffjumper leaned forward with eagerness. "Arcee shot at you? But she was always so nice."

The others present smirked to themselves, they had all heard the stories and seen the damage that the pink and black femme inflicted on mechs three or four times her size, and her targets weren't always 'Cons.

"Primus, yes. She's gotten me seven…eight…no eleven…no..." The munitions expert started counting silently on his fingers as he pulled data from his memory files.

The red Jeep Windcharger crossed his arms on the table and laid his chin on them. He looked up at Hound with mournful optics. "I miss Arcee."

"We all do," the Patriot said, rubbing his younger friend's back.

A melancholy air curled among the Autobots, as each of them remembered lost friends and loved ones. Every day they mourned for those that were gone and every day they tried to laugh for those that were still functioning. They all knew that the day the Decepticons would become victorious was the day that none of them would laugh and despair would finally consume their sparks.

"Did they ever figure out what happened to her?" Warpath asked with unusual reverence in his voice.

Cliffjumper shook his head. "No. All they ever found was a pool of split fluids and her weapons. There were signs of a struggle, so it was assumed she crossed paths with some Decepticons, and they were able to collect the bounty." He looked lost for a moment before he pulled himself together, but it took visible effort. "I think General Grimlock wanted to waste every mech he laid optics on. He wouldn't talk to anyone for orns."

For the first time Mirage spoke up from his solitary place in the corner. The other's had known of his presence, but chose to ignore the spy; the arrangement suited everyone. "Grimlock hated that femme, why should he care what happened to her?"

The scout snorted. "Because, at that time, the bounty for her head was higher than the bounty for his head. It meant that she had won."

"Won what?" the Mosler asked with visible annoyance.

Smokescreen tried to elaborate. "One cycle, over massive amounts of high grade, the two of them started boasting about who had the highest reward on their head. Since then, they continually tired to out do each other. The bounty for Arcee was at a quarter of million credits, then Grimlock went against orders and tried to assassinate Shockwave, but he intentionally botched it, so everyone would know who was responsible. His bounty surpassed hers. She went and demolished some piece of infrastructure the Decepticons felt was of considerable importance, so her bounty would be higher. The two of them had been doing this for vorns. The credits finally outweighed the risks, and… it caught up with her. Grimlock was irate because there was no way he was going to be able to best her without her there."

Mirage snorted. Sipping his energon he immediately turned his attention back to the data pad sitting in front of him. The others silently rolled their optics at each other. They had become accustomed to the spy's curt, supercilious nature.

"And that brings us back to the femme at hand…" Hound commented.

Standing up, Warpath held his drink aloft, almost brushing the ceiling with it and in a bellowing voice said, "A femme in your hands is a gift beyond compare, but if she lets you plug her ports…"

"Enough of that," snarled Ironhide as he walked through the commissary door. "Primus, why the frag are you reciting _that _poem. Don't you have the good sense that Vector Sigma programmed you with? And don't attempt to look all innocent to me; I know every version of that limerick."

Smokescreen gave the weapons specialist a small nod. "Hound was about to bring up a few concerns in dealing with our only resident femme when Warpath volunteered a…bit of culture."

Ironhide took a long swig from the cube of energon he held in his hands, narrowing his optics suspiciously. "Leave her alone" he snapped. HIs tone made it an order that no one was allowed to question. Draining the rest of the fuel, the black mech dumped the empty container in a reclamation bin and turned to face the lower ranking troops. "Prowl is expecting all of you for roll call and duty assignment in two breems. Don't be late." The senior Autobot stomped out of the room, leaving the rest of them to wonder what had crawled up his exhaust port and started chewing on his wiring.

"What were you going to say Hound?" The red scout nudged his partner.

The tracker flicked his optics to Cliffjumper and smiled softly. "I was going to point out that Velocity was sharing quarters with the Prime, and that Warpath might take that into consideration."

"Well, slag, I already knew that and who here thinks that it means anything? The Boss 'Bot has shared his rooms with nearly every member of his inner circle. 'Bee lived with him for how many vorns… Hound if you are suggesting that Velocity and Prime have something going on, I'll try to eat my own cannon." Warpath patted the massive weapon above his shoulder. "That little femme might be easy on the optics, but she isn't Elita."

_**XxxX**_

He watched her, unobserved, while she stood outside commissary with her arms crossed over her chest and one foot resting on the wall as she leaned against it. Velocity had waved to Ironhide as he came and went. She had smiled at Ratchet and 'Bee as they walked by deep in discussion, but she remained rooted to her spot. He knew what she was doing, he did the same thing whenever the opportunity presented itself. She was listening. Eavesdropping on the mechs inside that room. He could only imagine what they were saying, but the look of annoyance on her face helped him narrow down the subject matter.

Pushing herself off the wall, she turned and strolled down the corridor, away from him. His clear blue optics watched her walk away. From just inside another doorway, Prowl shook his head and made quick adjustments to the duty roster, it was time to find out a little more about the femme.

_**XxxX **_

They were gathered in the conference room and the occasional shoves or jostling of bodies would occur, as one would move too close to another. Mechs demanded their personal space, and she surmised that it had to do with their energy fields, bouncing and crackling against each other. The Cultural Expert stood off to the side, arms crossed, leaning her shoulder against the wall casually, while witnessing the social dynamics in action. Each mech had secured a small area to himself and didn't seem to tolerate any intruders, the exception being the twins. Those two stood shoulder to shoulder, bumping against each other repeatedly, obviously mingling their energy fields, an unspoken affirmation of their unique bond. A small amount of that closeness could be seen with Hound and Cliffjumper as they stood near each other, with fields barely brushing; the femme wondered exactly what that behavior meant. Optimus had informed her that some of the mechs present had long and colorful histories with each other, exactly how colorful was open for debate. Within minutes, however, each Autobot was situated and calm settled over the group.

A black and white mech entered to room, and Velocity watched as Prowl moved through the crowd, disturbing the subtle balance. The others shifted to avoid him, only to bump into a neighbor either physically or with their field setting off a chain reaction of pushing and grumbling. She couldn't help, but smile a little as the chaos started all over again and the Autobots readjusted their stance in relation to those around them. Superior beings indeed; they acted more like a school of fish, or a flock of birds with each individual responding only to what the one next to him was doing. Then a startling image swam behind her optics, several thousand mechs charging into battle with the fluid grace of a shoal of barracuda as they covered a torn and shattered cityscape with their glittering, metallic bodies. She shook her head, it wasn't her memory she was experiencing, it belonged to Optimus. Reaching towards him, she found him firmly planted in her mind, a presence that both annoyed and reassured her. As soon as she acknowledged the mental connection, it broke, just like before, except this time she was ready for the backlash and it didn't affect her nearly as much, but the pain still throbbed in her head. She shuttered her optics to give the side effects time to pass.

Growling her displeasure at the pain drew the attention of several sets of curious optics. She ignored them. Her mate had explained that he wanted to establish the strongest connection possible, and that she was the most receptive when her mind was busy on other tasks and her shields were down. She had laughed and asked what shields and he had responded by trailing a finger along her short ear finials and then tapping her forehead. "The shields that every sentient being keeps in here to protect themselves from the world around them. You are very adapt at keeping everyone, even me, away." She didn't argue or question, she knew deep in her soul that he spoke the truth and she vowed to try…for him.

A tingle alerted her to a presence, and Velocity forced herself to pay attention to those around her. Cliffjumper had moved close enough that his energy field brushed against her. She gave him a questioning look and he waved at her, only to be pulled away by Hound who bowed his head slightly. Frowning, more questions fluttered around in her mind.

Velocity continued to watch the social interplays of the mechs, which were just as fascinating as human interactions. The way each Autobot stood, shifted, gestured and spoke gave her mass amounts of information to store away for later. Once again, she was on the outside of society looking in when she realized that her voyeuristic indulgences were being observed by Smokescreen. Dropping her gaze, she refocused on Prowl and the lecture he was giving about what behaviors would and would not be tolerated in the presence of humans.

Once the SIC finished his speech, he turned his attention to the data pad he had sat on the ledge that was meant to keep humans safely out from under mechanoid feet. Picking it up, he calmly scanned his optics across it. "For everyone's information, Bumblebee and Sam will be accompanying Wheeljack to Pasadena, so they will be off base for several shifts."

Bumblebee nodded from where he was standing on the far side of the room, and no one asked. The rumors had already spread across the base, even though Optimus was trying to keep a tight lid on things until more information has been gathered and evaluated.

Tony had an apartment near Cal Tech, where he was studying, and apparently, her bondmate was going to indulge 'Jack in his request to search the area. Velocity hung her head to hide her frown; the memories of last night were still fresh in her mind. The engineer had pleaded for Optimus to let him leave the base that second so he could drive the distance to the physicist's home and be there by morning. The mech had been inconsolable with the realization that something might have happened to his new friend, and it had taken all three of them to convince him that he should wait and allow the humans to handle their own affairs, but now it appeared that Optimus was giving into the scientist's relentless requests. Though they had calmed Wheeljack down enough so they were sure he wasn't going to bolt for the exit, it was still a rough night. The pair had wound up staying with her and Optimus, making it impossible for her to relax enough for a proper recharge. Hearing her mate's voice in the other room and knowing he wouldn't be curled around her made shutting down harder than usual. It startled her how accustomed she had become to the weight of his arms wrapped around her while she was so completely immersed in his energy field.

In the past couple of weeks, it had become more and more difficult for them to find time to be together. On several occasion, Optimus had crawled in beside her after she had started to drift off, or had to leave before she awoke, but he always spent some time with her. Last night was different, he had sent her to their bed alone, and hadn't joined her. She knew he didn't require near as much rest as she did, but he usually made sure that he held her during the couple of hours she did have to be offline. Part of her remained miffed about the intrusion into _their_ time, and she felt guilty for feeling that way. Tony was someone she liked and his disappearance should not to be taken lightly, or ignored. She swallowed her annoyances like thick syrup and focused on helping in any way possible. Wishing she could brush away the slight ache of loneliness in her chest. Perhaps she should try to catch Optimus alone, and convince him to give into her needs. A small smile graced her lips as she realized he wouldn't object to such an intrusion into his schedule; his desire playfully licked at their shared bond. Apparently, he liked that idea. She decided that being bonded did have some disadvantages, when it forced individuals to remain in close physical proximity. She started to wonder what kind of culture the Cybertronians had that could support such dynamics, it defiantly wouldn't resemble western society where…

"… Velocity, did you hear me?"

Hearing her name immediately shattered her line of thoughts and she snapped her head towards the SIC. "No…sir?"

"And can you explain to me why you didn't refuel this morning? You appear to be suffering the effects of energon deprivation, which can manifest itself in lack of attention, weakness, and trouble with coordination, which will eventually led to system failure and stasis lock," the mech spoke with a clipped tone while staring her in the optics.

"I didn't have time, but I don't have any of the symptoms you have just mentioned," she responded while smiling sweetly, knowing all optics were watching the encounter.

"That is a load of slag and you know it. You are already exhibiting a loss of attention…"

"I was thinking about something…"

"Do not interrupt me. You willingly stood outside the commissary door for exactly point five three cycles and never moved to enter the room," Prowl informed everyone in a clipped tone.

Silence as heavy as newly fallen snow sank over the gathering of Autobots, not a gear whirred as they all stood frozen in place. It was without a doubt the proverbial calm before the very real storm. Velocity wasn't sure if she wanted to turn around and taunt the mechs; telling then that she had listened to every word that they said about her, or unleash her fury onto Prowl for needlessly attempting to humiliate her... again.

An almost muted "Oh, slag," drifted through the room and to her audios while Sideswipe's unmistakable chuckle could be heard.

The scarlet femme smiled coldly, a silent warning to all. "I have my reasons," she said with deliberate chill. "And they are _my_ reasons."

Prowl made a couple of quick adjustments to his data pad. "Very well, then you are to immediately correct your oversight and refuel. Also, for blatant insolence in refusing to adequately answer my inquiry and a proven lack of restraint in the presence of humans, you have been taken off the duty roster…"

"What?" she snarled with disbelief.

"Furthermore," the SIC continue, raising the volume of his voice, to speak over her impending outburst. "You will report to my office once you have consumed your fuel ration."

"Oh frag. You hear that Sunny, all we have to do is be disrespectful and we don't have to do a slagging thing."

"Sideswipe, would you and your brother enjoy a triple shift?" The police cruiser gave the twins a pointed look.

Velocity, barely heard either of them, or any of the other whispered comments that were being made around her. Cold rage and hot embarrassment fought for control of her emotions. Curling her hands into fists she cycled her vents and turned to leave, she found Hound blocking her path. "It's ok. We have all been there, just roll with it and you'll do fine," he whispered into her audios.

She growled, low and dangerously, the jeep moved out of her way, as did every mech between her and the door.

_**XxxX**_

Fresh energon coursed through her body, re-energizing her systems and feeding her foul attitude. Velocity sprawled sullenly in a chair with her feet propped irreverently on his desk, talons extended in a petulant display. Her internal chronometer said that she had been waiting for almost 2 cycles and boredom was eroding the wicked edge of her anger, leaving her just plain bitchy.

She couldn't figure out the mech's game. Last night he poked fun at her, today he reprimanded her in front of the entire crew, and she couldn't forget that he had pledged his loyalty to her. She didn't know what to think, every time she thought she had him pegged,he then turned around and did something completely against his previous behavior. Optimus trusted his SIC explicitly, and they had worked side by side for several million years. She shook her head, the bot acted like he was suffering from Multiple Personalities. Perhaps she should discuss a few things to her mate; Ratchet had alluded once that mechanoids could suffer from stress induced processing errors, and she assumed that would be the same as mental illness. The fact remained that she was tired of his attitude towards her.

The door quietly hissed open behind her, then closed, and a body entered the sterile room with her. She didn't turn around, she didn't have to; the lack of…presence told her it wasn't Optimus and he was the only mech she really wanted to see at the moment. Prowl walked passed her, paused and deftly shoved her feet off of his desk, then took his hand and wiped the spot where they had been sitting. Velocity didn't protest; she just kept a wry smile anchored to her face and waited.

Blue optics moved along her frame, evaluating her and if she still had hair, it would have stood on the back of her neck. Primal instincts roared to life, screaming for her to move, and she did. Bolting out of the chair, she leapt to her feet and moved out of the way a nanosecond before the SIC charged. Aiming for the door she found it shut and used the hard surface to bounce off and change her direction. Twisting her upper body, she barely escaped the mech's attempt to grab a hold of her; calling out for help never crossed her processor.

Jumping forward and rolling to a standing position, she wanted to put as much room between her and the hostile Autobot as possible. She barely made it to her feet before the black and white was upon her, scrabbling for a secure hold. Fear seized her and she saw a different mech. She wasn't going to die, not like that, not again. Triggering her blade, it flawlessly slid out of its housing underneath the armor of her forearm, and she swung it with lethal intent at her target, and sliced through empty air. Registering movement in the periphery of her optic, Velocity didn't hesitate. Reversing the stroke, she attacked with the savagery of a cornered animal only to find that her target wasn't there. He had moved, giving her a clear path to the door.

Velocity paused, torn between bolting for the exit or vanquishing her attacker. The black and white mech had a relaxed, unconcerned air about him and wasn't paying her the slightest bit of attention as his optics flickered over a data pad on his desk. Pressing her back against the wall, the crimson femme slowly started sliding along it, heading towards the door. Her opponent was larger, more heavily armed and the office offered limited space for either one of them to move. Her pump pounded in her chest, but something held onto her fear and kept it from suffocating her. Before her stood Barricade, but in the back of her mind a soft voice whispered repeatedly that she was looking at Prowl. Confusion ate at her and she wanted to get away from the conflicting messages.

Almost to the door.

Almost to safety.

This was almost over and the mech made a fatal mistake, he turned his back to her. Eons of organic evolution could not be denied and predatory instincts flared within her metallic frame. Her enemy was vulnerable. Soundlessly, without hesitation, she sprang. A powerful hand gripped her sword arm rendering it useless and she momentarily lost all sense of direction as something impacted her chest and she was air-born.

Hitting the floor on the opposite side of the desk, Velocity laid stunned and disoriented for a second, but it was more than enough time for her attacker to act. The mech pounced, clearing the top of the desk and landed on top of her, his hands scrambling to secure hers before she could use either sword or claws against him. His weight pressed her hips and legs against the hard floor, incapacitating her and pinning her down. She couldn't move, the sound of gears straining and her intakes sucking in air to cool her systems filled her audios. Growling furiously, Velocity snapped her dental plates together, trying to bite at the mech. Anger had taken her ability to articulate the thoughts of murder in her mind.

Calm blue optics regarded her silently as she struggled to free her self.

A massive form blocked the overhead lighting and plunged both of them into shadows. Azure optics burned from above. "Can someone fragging explain, why my Second in Command is restraining my… Cultural Expert!"

The black and white looked up, over his shoulder, but wouldn't relinquish his hold on the femme. "I was assessing Velocity's reaction time. I didn't realize how… aggressive she could be."

"Velocity," Optimus called to her, but she gave it little heed. She focused all her attention on the mech she intended to kill the second he released her.

"Velocity!" a familiar voice snapped, and over her internal communications the name ::Sira:: echoed through her mind, pulling her attention immediately to her bondmate.

"Who has a hold of you?" Prime asked her. It was a simple question, but it took her a few seconds to figure out the answer. The image of hateful red optics faded quickly and she relaxed a little, as caresses of reassurance touched her soul, Optimus was trying to convince her that she was safe and he would make sure no harm came to her.

Blinking her optic shutters a couple of times; she shifted her gaze from her mate to the mech that had her pinned down. She covered her confusion and uncertainty with a false bravado, not knowing what to make of the situation. "It's mother fucking Prowl," she answered, forcing her voice to carry the confidence she didn't feel at the moment.

The Autobot commander stared down at her, cocking his head to the side. "Are you going to attempt to assault my Second when he releases you?"

She smiled viciously and locked optics with the tactician. "Yes," she growled, starting to feel more sure of herself.

"NO!" The word hit her audios like a thunderclap and she winced.

Cycling her vents, she looked away and completely relaxed her body; a gesture of submission. Silently, Prowl let go of her hands, stood and backed away. She did not move until the SIC was across the room and Prime had stepped between them. He extended a silver hand to her, but she ignored it, preferring to stand on her own. A mental command sent the blade sliding smoothly back to its sheath inside her arm, wiggling her fingers flexed her wrist enjoying having her full range of movement returned to her hand. Optimus gave her a long searching look and she smiled weakly back, it was hard to act all brave and nonchalant when she wanted to curl up in his arms and hide.

A single word in Cybertronian and Prowl left his office. The door sighed shut, leaving her alone with Optimus. It was too much, she leaned against him feeling his warm metal skin against her face, large hands wrapped around her shoulders and then they lifted her into the air. A solid thud sounded as her aft landed on the tactician's desk. Her mate's touch lingered for a few seconds, his hands rubbing her arms while he looked her over. "Are you injured?" he asked and she shook her head "no". "Good. Wait right here," he commanded and slipped out of the office, leaving her alone.

She wrapped her arms around herself and waited. Voices held a muted conversation in the hall. The closed door muffled the sounds, but not the tones. She knew one of the tones very well; it was a deep rumble that demanded answers and usually got them. Becoming bored she glanced around the office, a data pad caught her attention and she looked at the rows of alien glyphs. Recognizing a few of the symbols and it appeared to be a report on the discrepancies in the levels of energon in storage. She could have scrolled through the pad to see what Prowl kept files on, but that would require touching the device and she didn't want to unwrap her arms just yet.

Within a few minutes, Optimus returned, and once again, he shut the door behind him giving them complete privacy. In two long strides, he covered the distance between them and cupped her face in his hands, tilting it upwards to meet his gaze. "Trust Prowl. He only wants to protect you and he cannot do so unless he knows how well you can protect yourself. Velocity, please. He only has the best of intentions in his spark."

She met the azure glow of her bondmate's optics. "He didn't have to attack me," she stated flatly, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

Optimus never wavered in his gaze. "Yes, he did. He was concerned that fear would paralyze you and you would become an easy target."

Shame and disgust at her actions washed over her. Velocity attempted to turn her head to look away, but the hands held her in place. "I wanted to kill him Optimus. I …"

"I know." Her mate stated as his thumb traced the line of her brow plates. "I know you did, and it took considerable concentration to keep your anger in check."

She whipped her head out of his hands. "You kept my anger in check?" she asked incredulously.

Optimus gave her a knowing smile. "We are bonded; I have complete access to your emotional state and can influence it. I knew what Prowl had planned today and was… concerned as to your response." A silver hand reached out, hesitantly began stroking her audio finial, and down her neck. "When I felt you panic, I knew you were not seeing Prowl any longer and rushed to intervene."

She narrowed her optics at him. "You are a bastard and I should slap the shit out of you."

"You would never raise a hand against me," Prime stated confidently and gave her a smug look.

"You're still a bastard… Are you trying to influence me now?"

Optimus shook his head to the negative. "Once the anger is broken, it fades away. Your anger burns hot, but it dissipates quickly. It is easy to contend with."

"I wonder if Prowl thinks I'm some sort of lunatic?"

"No, he understands. This war has been brutal and those that survive physically carry much deeper injuries within their sparks. He has had some concerns with your apparent unpredictability, but I have assured him that you would never harm an innocent."

The femme sighed. Shuttering her optics, she rubbed her face along the palm of his hand. She wondered what had happened to her. A year ago, the thought of someone invading her mind and soul would have repulsed her. A taboo, an abomination that tainted and corroded the spirit. She couldn't imagine committing such a sin, and now she relished the very thing she had been taught was wrong. Now she couldn't imagine living a life without the closeness of Optimus. She couldn't fathom not feeling the weight of his presence in her soul. She had broken the fundamental beliefs of her people and never looked back. She found herself willing to do anything for Optimus and knew he felt the same about her. To her elders, she would be a degenerate of the worst kind and she couldn't care less.

"Well, I hope I didn't disappoint him" Sarcasm laced her words.

A chuckle rumbled from Prime's vocals. "Oh, he is far from disappointed. Just trust him…please." With the last word, his hand slid from her face. The hiss of compressed air told her that he had left.

Optimus had asked her to trust Prowl, and she would do what she could, but the tactician didn't have to treat her like a fool earlier or embarrass her in front of the others. The femme didn't care what his reasoning was behind that, it was inconsiderate and not the best way to gain her trust or co-operation. She knew she shouldn't outright challenge him; that would put Prime in a difficult spot having to referee the two of them.

The tactician entered the room and looked quizzically at her. "Could you please refrain from putting any body parts on my desk?" he asked dryly.

"Can I leave?" she asked while keeping her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the desktop.

The black and white mech looked at her. "I have a strong suspicion that you are quite accustomed to doing what you want when you want and feeling little remorse or regret. You can leave whenever you would like, but I would like to talk with you before you terminate our discussion." He righted a chair that had been knocked over in their tussle and slid it near her. "I can assure you this is just as comfortable as my desk."

_Asshole, _she thought to herself_. _Hopping down, she gave the offered furniture a doubtful look and carefully sat in it. "For your information, I do feel remorse and regret. I am also familiar with guilt, desperation, fear, suffering, despair, lamentation and dejection; though I prefer solace, compassion, love, merriment and joy," Velocity informed the mech.

The SIC cocked a brow arch at her, and seemed to look at her with renewed interest. They stared at each other for several long seconds, each measuring the other. Prowl finally broke the uneasy silence, as he sat across from her, the scuffed desktop turned into a hollow battlefield separating them. "Activate your blade," he commanded in an emotionless voice. Velocity wasn't sure if she heard him correctly, until he repeated himself.

She did so; internally the sections of the weapon came together and seams melded into a solid piece of metal designed with the intention of killing, swiftly and affectively. The SIC looked the blade over and had her retract it. They repeated this process over two dozen times before he asked her to lay her arm on the desk with the blade extended.

"I thought I wasn't suppose to touch your desk," she pointed out. The mech glowered at her as he transformed parts of his hand into an assortment of tools. She smiled to herself and mentally noted the small victory.

He ran the fingers of his other hand along the seams of her scarlet armor. The touch felt intimate and gentle; startled, she yanked her arm back. The Autobot cycled his vents in a sigh and gave her a small smile, tight smile. "I am not going to harm you. I would just like to check the tension on the release spring."

Velocity tensed and held her arm close to her. She didn't like others touching her, and his motives were still unknown to her, but Optimus had told her to trust him. She hesitantly laid her arm on the desk between them and waited.

With slow, deliberate movements, the mech placed his hand upon her and went to work. He announced every move before he made it, obviously concerned about upsetting her.

"Shouldn't Ratchet be the one checking my tensions?" she asked, then immediately regretted it.

Prowl glanced at her and an indescribable expression traveled across his face before it disappeared. She had a feeling that had it been anyone else, an obscene remark would have followed, but the mech just turned his attention back to the task at hand.

"Let me know if I hurt you. This could be a little uncomfortable." The mech carefully shifted her armor plating to gain access to the sensitive wiring and mechanisms located behind it. Velocity remained absolutely still and watched every move he made. A hiss escaped her vocals when he tugged with too much force on a wire. Utilizing a different tool, he removed a complicated latching mechanism and started dismantling it. The femme stared as bits and pieces of her body laid along the desktop in an organized fashion. "I would suggest that you don't move," he said without looking up.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that part out on my own," she retorted.

A ghostly smile played along the SIC's lips. "Who taught you how to defend yourself?" he asked in a causal tone.

"Ironhide," she said without pause, and that was true…partially.

Prowl continued to make minute adjustments to the parts in front of him. "That is slag. Ironhide has a distinctive style that leaves its mark on all of his students. Your technique is different. Who taught you?"

She remained silent and when he looked at her, meeting this gaze with unflinching defiance. They stared at each other, and he broke away first, but she could see that the gears were turning in his head. She would remain silent, and no amount of staring would be able to loosen her vocals. What could she say anyways? _Well you see Prowl, my ex-lover trained me and, oh yeah, I was born on this world, not sparked into a metal frame… _Nope, she wasn't going to say a word.

The silence stretched on while he reassembled the mechanism he had removed from her arm, and neither seemed to mind the lack of conversation.

Finally, Velocity asked, "What am I suppose to do with the rest of my day now that you have taken me off the roster?"

"You are going to show me what you can do. I know every mech's capabilities. His strengths and his weaknesses, both physical and mental. I know nothing about you. Your file is frustratingly empty and what is in there, even I cannot access." Piercing optics meet hers. "Do you know why that is?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, even though her pump was pounding away in her chest. "I haven't a clue. Maybe it's because I used to work for a drug cartel, running heroin over the Mexican border, and before that I was a stripper… oh, then there was the stint I did at Leavenworth, and one at Folsom." Prowl made a pained expression and shook his head. She smiled with mock sincerity and batted her optic shutters coyly. The mech turned his attention back to reassembling her forearm.

Velocity wanted to sigh with relief, she didn't think it would have been that easy to dissuade the tactician, and a small tickle of warning deep inside, told her it wasn't. Most likely, he was baiting her to see how she would react.

Prowl leaned back in his chair and transformed his hand back into a normal looking appendage. Leaning forward again, he checked the seam in her armor one last time.

"Retract the blade," he said and she did so. The weapon slid back into its protective housing.

"Now, activate it."

Before he could finish the command, the slender sword sprung out, seemingly of its own accord. Velocity practiced, several more times, amazed at the lightning fast response of the weapon. She couldn't help but smile at the tactician.

"By adjusting the spring lock, I have shaved point three three astroseconds off the time it takes to access and activate your close quarters fighting armament."

"I…um…Thank you. How did you know how to do that?" the red femme asked, still a little speechless at the generosity of the mech who had dressed her down in front of the others just that morning.

"My brother showed me," was all that he would say.

_**XxxX**_

She was dirty. Her hair hung lankly against her face and neck. Filth smudged her skin and she could have sworn she had grit in her mouth, but she couldn't stop smiling.

Catherine had spent her second day with the Autobots and decided that it took a special breed of hyperactive, slightly suicidal person to try to live around the robotic aliens. They had dragged her all over the state of Nevada and frequently at speeds double the posted limit. She had finally admitted to herself that she was hoping to be offered a chance to take up permanent residence at their base, but the offer never came. When the utility company made the announcement that the power to Las Vegas was fully restored, she knew the fun time was over.

Hound had taken her home. Even now, the green jeep sat in her driveway with a holographic driver behind his wheel. Turning she waved good-bye to her new friend and wondered when she would see the Autobots again.

Unlocking her door, she could hear the smooth purr of his engine and the crunch of rocks in his tires as he backed out of her driveway and started on his way to his home. She liked Hound. He was easy going, competent, funny, charming and she felt safe with him. Pity he was a twenty-something foot tall alien robot, otherwise he would be the perfect man. Once again, she found someone she liked and once again, he was unobtainable. Perhaps her mother was right, and she should just give up.

Cautiously stepping into her condominium, it felt like she had been away for months, when in actuality, it had only been about two and a half days. Every thing here belonged to her and reflected her sense of taste and comfort. All of it was carefully selected to express her status of "young, independent and professional", but she would rather live in the cavernous halls and cathedral-like rooms of an underground installation, where comfort and function outweighed style. Tossing her keys on the bar that separated the kitchen from the main living area, she surveyed her meaningless home. The plants needed watering, something in the trash had started to smell, a box sat on her mahogany dinning room table…

The reporter froze, she couldn't remember if the box had been there when she left. She doubted it had been. No one ever went into that room, except the housekeeper. Snatching her keys up, she firmly wedged a couple of them between her fingers and slowly approached the corrugated container.

It sat benignly on her table. It didn't twitch. It didn't move. Nothing jumped out of it as she neared it. With shaking fingers, she pried the flaps open and looked inside.

There nestled in the shadowy interior was Jim's camera equipment.

Sprinting for the door, she threw it open and ran onto the immaculately landscaped yard, her eyes searching for anything out of place. A couple of units down, a black SUV sat. The driver waved at her as he pulled the vehicle back onto the road.

Catherine shuddered; Agent Simmons had been in her house.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **Turbosquirrel - A very non-canon creation of the author's imagination. They are destructive creatures that have been known to chew apart the armor of mechs that have fallen into stasis lock.

Multiple Personalities is really known as Dissociative Identity Disorder. Velocity isn't up on all the new psych jargon.

To **Taluliaka** – Thank you. The chapters are getting harder and harder to write. There is so much to cover, but I will finish this thing. Ironhide has a wisdom only experience can grant. To **Carmilla DeWinter **– Thank you for pointing the issues with the last post. It must have been a formating issue, since they weren't present in my copy. (Oh heavens, no. Never any operator error here. *sarcasm*). I'll hint, there will be some major butt biting, but it could be worse. (eyebrow wiggle). To **Cybernetic Mango** – Don't go messing with Hardcore, he might be a calm Decepticon, but he is a nasty one...as you shall soon learn... and I don't like losing my readers.


	26. Dirt

**Rating:** T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

**Disclaimer:** The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Beta read** by **Okamichan** and **Okami-myrrhibis**. Thank you ladies for helping me tackle this and whip it into shape.

_**XxxX **_

_**Dirt**_

_**XxxX**_

Taking a length of re-bar the green mech stuck one end of it into the hard-pan of the desert and walked backwards, gouging a trail in the dirt "...And this?" He pointed one end of the metal pole to the drawing he had made.

Rolling her optics, the femme answered, "It's a line."

The mech crossed his stubby arms over his chest and stared at his pupil. "That is not what I mean and you know it."

"Fine, it's a straight line." Her attention barely wavered from the spine-covered lizard that had decided to sun himself on her foot.

The shutters over yellow optics opened wide then narrowed to irritated slits.

"A really pretty, straight line?" the crimson femme offered while batting her optic shutters, feigned innocence hung around her like a mist.

Cosmos rubbed a hand across his masked face in frustration. "Just measure the line."

"Oh fine." She rolled her optics again. Huffing, she bit off the words, "Its two hister, six and a quarter espes in length." Taking her finger, she chased the reptile away from her foot until she could stand without accidentally stepping on him.

Shaking his head in exasperation, the scientist walked a little further away and gouged another mark in the ground, this one with an angle in it. He pointed and waited, tapping his foot in annoyance.

Velocity activated her HUD and tagged both ends and the bend. Her processor took over, the sensation of having parts of her mind work without conscious thought bothered her. She knew that organic minds also carried out such things as regulating bodily functions, shuffling through memories and storing new information without the conscious mind being aware, but therein lay the difference... consciousness. Before, thinking seemed mysterious and magical, the mind functioned without her. Now, if she concentrated, she could detect the electrical pulses along the wires and chips of her processor. The feeling became a little disconcerting.

"One arn exactly, terminating in a forty-eight degree angle, then continuing for one hister and 3 espes. Come on Cosmos, we have been doing this since before sunup," she whined pleadingly.

The scientist gave her a measured look and handed her the makeshift writing tool. "Draw a 4 hister line," he ordered. "Prowl said that you are programmed to be metalworker, yet you are lacking the most basic of Cybertronian concepts. It is my job to ensure that you are adequately educated in that regard."

Velocity sneered and went about drawing a straight-line exactly four histers long. "If you'd let me use inches and feet or centimeters and meters, we wouldn't be out here, but, oh no, the superior robots can't be bothered to make the conversions." She grumbled loud enough for the Autobot to hear. When finished, she scratched out a large peace symbol, a stylized heart and a smiley face. Grinning wickedly at her own handiwork, she presented it to Cosmos.

The mech shook his head. "Are you ever serious?" he snapped testily.

"Not if I don't have to be. Some people actually enjoy the simple act of living," she answered while making the symbol for the Cybertronian equivalent of her name in the dust. Optimus had increased their lessons, he kept reiterating the importance of becoming proficient in her new language, and she had improved some. Now, she could catch about every fifth word he said to her, but some of the subtle variations continued to confuse her.

"Fine," snapped her teacher. He stomped over to the peace symbol and pointed at it. "Compute the diameter and radius of this, and explain in mathematical terms why it is not a perfect circle. Once you have completed that, I want you to tell me the lengths of the lines and the degree of the angles." Triumph glowed from the mech's optics.

Cosmos turned towards the base, his optics focusing on something in the distance. Velocity followed his gaze; a brown plum of dust kicked up by the tires of numerous vehicles hung along the horizon. Keeping her optics on the approaching Autobots, she quickly used her foot to wipe away the drawings before Cosmos could object.

_**XxxX**_

The winter air should have been cool, but a small warm front had pushed across the desert. That, coupled with the sun blazing down from a crystalline blue sky and reflecting off the metallic armor of the Ark, made it feel as if she stood next to an open oven. A breeze rocked the makeshift scaffolding that she stood on and without thinking; she locked one set of claws into a convenient seam on the spacecraft. Cosmos shifted and his considerable mass added to the sway of the platform.

"Could you be still?" she hissed, trying to concentrate on her work; dark lenses protected her optics from the searing light of the plasma torch. It had been embarrassing to learn that she had those tucked away in her helm.

Fortunately, no one had to show her how to use the equipment, she had similar items stashed in her workroom, but actually slicing through the thick alloy of the Ark proved to more formidable. In places the thick exo-armor, measured almost five terran feet thick. However, with a slight change in technique, she could get the job done. For most of the morning, she assisted the round-bodied mech in cutting loose chunks of the Ark to fit whatever requirements Cliffjumper relayed to them.

Cosmos stomped a couple of times, sending concussion vibrations throughout the surface they stood on. The thin boards bounced alarmingly and she tightened her grip. "I assure you that this is perfectly secure, and is rated for more than double our combined weight. Furthermore, if you were fall from this height, it is highly unlikely that you would sustain any critical damage..."

"Let's not find out?" Velocity snarled peevishly. She really didn't mind the height, but the way the platform bowed under the mech's weight made her apprehensive. His continuous movements along the scaffolding created an undulating motion that made it difficult for her to balance. She didn't care what the safety specs for the planking they stood upon stated; everything eventually had its point of failure.

Grinding her dental plates in annoyance, she went back to her task, certain that he had to have been doing that on purpose.

In typical Optimus fashion, her bondmate wanted the military buildings fortified, making the humans' barracks as impervious to attack as possible, and the inner circle agreed with him. No one said it, but she guessed that the missing Tony Melby sat at the back everyone's' minds, and all realized how vulnerable their human friends and allies were.

Finishing the vertical cut, she started the horizontal one that would meet with Cosmos's. He worked faster than she did, but she didn't have the luxury of built in weaponry that converted into cutting torches. They had labored together for several hours; he guided and checked her progress. Shortly the mech would turn her loose so she could work alone.

As the last espe of metal melted under the heat of her torch, the plate above her shifted. Giving it a weary optic, she hoped that the thin strip they left on top could hold it in place. The fall might not kill her, but she doubted having a large chunk of a spaceship land on top of her increased her chances for survival, and would hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Shutting off the torch and re-attaching the tip to the pack on her back, she readied for the final stage.

Finding sufficient finger and toeholds, Velocity used her claws to aid in her climb above the section she currently worked on. Making sure, she had a good grip on the side of the ship with one hand she used the other to catch the hoist line Warpath tossed to her. Working quickly she used the cables to secure the multi-ton slab of metal to the crane that towered over the Ark. She gave a thumbs-up to the human operating the massive piece of equipment. He nodded in acknowledgement and the machine hummed as it took up the slack in the line. Scrambling for a better position, she ignited her torch and cut the final hister to separate the armor from the side of the vessel.

The plate came loose with a startling creak of wires straining to the maximum. It swung in the Nevada breeze, suspended by cables that looked to thin to hold the weight. Reaching out, Velocity laid a hand on the side of the shinning slab in an attempt to keep it from spinning; she found the strobe-like effect of the sun's reflection disorienting.

Stressed metal moaned ominously, and sent shivers from her audios to her toes. She froze, and then looked around her nervously. Steel moaned again, this time longer and louder. The crane shuddered; a metallic bang preceded the slow lean of the heavy equipment. The treads on one side lifted off the dirt as it started to tip.

Velocity scrambled to get as far away as she could, but hanging by her claws off the side of Ark left few options for escape. She found herself within the shadow of the suspended slab of metal. It shifted, and sparks showered her from where the monolith had struck the side of the ship, scant arns away from her position. Desperately, she looked for a safe place to jump to, and down appeared the only option. Tensing, and curling her legs under her, she prepared to leap.

Below her, Warpath grabbed the listing piece of equipment with both hands trying to counterbalance the weight of the slab with his own considerable mass. He called out. Several Autobots scrambled to the crane, adding their weight to keep it from toppling over. Even from her perch high above, she could see the mechs straining to stabilize the machine. Their limbs strained and mechanoid feet dug into the dry earth for purchase. She saw a splash of red armor underneath the yellow hoist, Cliffjumper pushed against the teetering machine, while the others pulled. With a hollow thump the crane's treads landed, jostling the Autobots that refused to let go. The mechs continued to keep their hold, until the sheet of metal slowly swung to the side and touched the ground. Hearing her pump pound frantically in her chest, she waited a few minutes so it could slow.

The hypercoils in her legs shook with build-up tension and her hands refused to release their grip. Her body felt like it belonged to someone else and didn't want to respond to her demands. With agonizing slowness, Velocity cautiously made her way back down to the scaffolding. As soon as her foot touched the security of the not so secure planks, she collapsed. Sitting cross-legged, she rested her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands. She needed to calm down.

"Hmm... perhaps we should inform Ironhide that he needs to change his designs to accommodate smaller pieces of armor plating," Cosmos pondered while rubbing his masked face with his hand, seemingly unconcerned.

"Oh, you think," she replied with scathing sarcasm, never raising her head to look at the green mech.

_**XxxX**_

She spent the rest of the day laboring alone, feeling competent and in control.

Prowl assigned everyone their current tasks based on skill level and not rank. Optimus hauled trailers back and forth from the Ark to the base, and not once did she see him in his root mode, only as a flame covered Peterbilt. The same with Huffer; the other semi-shaped mech also pulled trailers to and from the ship. Cosmos disappeared to somewhere in the bowels of the ship with Ratchet and Smokescreen, while Warpath acted as supervisor, barking orders which most ignored and assisting the crane operator with the loading of trailers. The huge mech actually handled security. His weapons would hold off a Decepticon attack long enough for everyone to seek the limited safety of the ship. Every few minutes, he performed a long-range sweep, looking for trouble. From where she sat atop the Ark she could watch mechs and humans busy themselves as they attempted to strip a spaceship.

Taking the one of the markers she "borrowed" from a soldier with an artistic flare, she drew along an almost invisible seam, noting an imperfection for future reference. The femme cheerfully mused to herself, _Sergeant Donaldson, shouldn't have left his supplies inside his Humvee, someone might rifle through his pack and take them_.

Allowed to carry out her task as she saw fit, the femme quickly started identifying stressed areas, old welds, patches, and a whole list of imperfections that marred the outside of the hull. Any sections that looked as though they could have integrity issues were marked to worked around. She tried to line her cuts up with preexisting seams and send only perfect metal to Ironhide. Some of the other Autobots kidded her about using human techniques, but the method worked for her. She liked her job, she knew how to do her job and it made her content. She had even confused a few of the mechs by having a chipper demeanor for once.

As she drew a line to indicate a well-hidden weld, the ink quickly faded from black to gray and then disappeared all together. Shaking the marker vigorously, then she scribbled on the hull of the ship. Nothing, it had run out of ink. Spitting the cap she had wedged between her dental plates into her hand, she capped the spent writing instrument and made a mental note to buy Donaldson a new set.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent the item on a collision course with the back of Warpath's head. A faint "tink" sounded and the huge mech spun to glare up at her. Smiling, she shrugged, the squiggles, circles and straight lines that she had made with the marker now served as her backdrop.

Warpath cocked a brow arch in a lascivious manner, and she immediately regretted her actions. "Not a chance on Earth," she yelled, pulling another marker from the package.

"There is a small planet about twenty-six million miles from here. Would that work?" The tank smiled. To Velocity, his expression appeared humorous and lustful.

"Go fuck yourself," she hollered.

Warpath laughed and turned away from her to watch Cliffjumper's arrival.

A red jeep bounded across the dirt, his tires losing contact with the ground as he launched over small rises and then landing hard enough to bottom out a couple of times. Sliding to an abrupt halt, the mech kicked up dirt and almost choked the humans standing nearby. Rapidly transforming, Cliffjumper whistled to let her know he had arrived. She shook her head. Earlier that day, the jubilant mech had shaken the platform so badly she promised to shoot whoever didn't give her a heads-up before they started climbing. Apparently, he took her threat seriously.

The platform rocked and wobbled as the scout ascended to her perch. She resisted the urge to berate him for it; he had already received enough of an ass-chewing from her. A black and red hand appeared from below and she grabbed it, pulling. Once the mech stood safely next to her, she relaxed a little. Cliffjumper's boundless optimism made him easy to work around, once she learned to ignore his twitchy gestures and his exuberant chatter. She thought of him as cute, in the way small yippy-dogs were cute, once the urge to kick them subsided.

Mentally, she prepared herself for the list of oddly shaped pieces Ironhide would need. "What have you got for me this time? Does he want a perfect circle or something in the shape of the Eiffel Tower?"

The mech gave her a wide optic look while fiddling with something on his arm. "No, nothing like that. He wants thirty-eight five espe by twelve espe pieces," Cliffjumper announced as if this news should excite her.

"What the hell, is he doing, tiling the roof?" Her comment held more annoyance than she felt. The simplicity of the request baffled her.

Cliffjumper stepped away from her; the sensitive mech didn't seem to like it when she grumbled. "Um...he needs them to create blast shutters for the windows. Sergeant Epps pointed out that humans enjoy solar radiation. Apparently absorbing photons into their skin and viewing the ecosystem around them has a positive effect on their mood."

Velocity chuckled to herself, as she started to make notations on the side of the spaceship; lines indicated five espe wide sections. Igniting the torch, she dropped the protective lenses over her optics and went to work. When the first small plate came free, she laid it to the side then started on the second. Pausing in her work she turned and signaled the crane operator, a prearranged hand gesture telling him to relax. He gave her an "ok" sign in return, never bothering to take his feet off the console of the machine. She saw no reason to use the hoist, for she could easily pick up the brick-shaped slabs, and toss them at... to Warpath, hopefully hitting him with a couple for good measure.

A shadow blocked the sun and Velocity looked around, Cliffjumper stood right behind her, peering at her expectantly.

"Yes?" Normally the mech climbed down after delivering her the next set of cuts.

He shifted nervously from foot to foot, looking about as if he wanted to find the quickest escape route.

"Come on, out with it." She tried to make her tone as light and joking as possible, but it sounded shaky and weak in her audios. Mild apprehension fluttered in her chest told her that she probably didn't want to hear what he wanted to ask. Shooting down Warpath's come-ons gave her a twisted sense of satisfaction, turning down Cliffy would leave her feeling like hammered shit. Hopefully, the red mech just wanted to chat about the weather.

Scratching the back of his head, Cliffjumper made a few false starts before he finally managed to say what he wanted to. "Some of the Autobots calculated the probability that you are..." he trailed off, obviously uncomfortable with the subject he wanted to broach.

"I am what?" Velocity asked, her gears tightening involuntarily. This could be worse than an amorous request. If he asked sensitive questions, she didn't know how she should respond.

The scout looked everywhere, but at her. "Are you the last femme? For a long time only Arcee and Moonracer remained, but now they are both presumed to be with the Matrix and with you here we...we were wondering if you knew of the whereabouts of any others." Cliffjumper spoke so fast that it took Velocity a few seconds to process his words.

What could she say? She didn't know enough to form a reasonable lie. He had her in a corner.

In a quiet voice, she told all that she could. "I don't know of any other femmes." She turned back to her work hoping the 'Bot got the hint and shut up. His questions disturbed her far more than she wanted to admit.

Surprised optics stared at her and his frame twitched. "Surely you know who your creators are." Cocking his head to the side and moved a little closer to her. "They would have to be femmes since only femmes create femmes. If you tell me what region you were sparked in, I can narrow things down if your memory files are a little corrupted..."

"I have never been to Cybertron, so could we talk about something else." She struggled to keep her voice neutral, wanting nothing more than to tell the mech to "shut up". Continuing with her task, she sat another piece of metal down.

Moving to stand beside her, the mech seemed emboldened by the fact that she didn't show any hostility. His optics widened in awe. "You're from off-world? That is amazing. I have heard of that occurring, but it is considered extremely risky. Even in the controlled environment of the Sparking Chamber one out of every ten sparks wither and are lost. Your creators must have been very skilled..." Cliffjumper jerked. "That means you had progenitors, unless you are a child of the Allspark, but Prime didn't find the Allspark until he came here…"

Grinding her dental plates together, she focused with even more intensity to the blue-white glow of the plasma cutter. She couldn't comment, she didn't know what to say.

A hand gripped her shoulder, small twitches running along his fingers. "You were sparked here... on Earth… weren't you?"

"You talk too much," she growled, while turning her back to the Autobot. Tossing another slab of metal onto the ever-growing pile, she pointed at it. "Take that to 'Hide," biting off the words, she laced them with an arctic chill. She didn't have anything against Cliffjumper, except that she couldn't let anyone know about her past, and had to push aside her qualms about offending him to protect herself.

From that point on, the day started to drag. Whenever the scout had to talk to her, he wore an expression that mixed curiosity with awe. She understood that he wanted to know about her... all the new mechs did… but she couldn't answer their questions, she could only verbally snap at him when he asked. Even as she did, she could see more questions swirling in his optics.

_**XxxX **_

The sun had passed its zenith and the long shadows were fading away into night. Laying her head against the side of the Ark, Velocity decided that she might need a break. If need be, she could go several Terran days without recharging, but crawling over the outer hull of the Autobot ship like a spider on a fallen log finally started to take its toll on her systems. The amount of strain her feet, legs and talons had endured left them achy. A sure sign her body demanded rest to repair any damage she may have caused to it.

She sat down on the platform. The Autobots wouldn't stop until they completed the job, that was just how they rolled... literally. She could either be part of the crew or step aside, and stubborn pride wouldn't let her step aside.

Surveying the activity around her while she rested, she felt more than a little accomplished. Warpath had moved her platform for her at least seven different times during the day and she had single handedly cut and stripped the metal from a large section of the Ark. Naked, rib-like support struts marked where she had already sliced the armor from the vessel as if peeling blubber from the carcass of a dead whale. She had no idea what condition the inside of the ship would be like by now. Optimus had hauled load after load of equipment to the base. On one trip, she thought she saw the picture of Iacon that had hung in one of the long hallways wedged in his cab.

Shifting, Velocity grabbed the plasma cutter and dragged it towards her. Spinning it around, she sat about checking it over. The cutting tip had cooled enough to touch, so she made sure there weren't any stray bits of metal that had melted and hardened on it, causing a blockage. Running her hands along the hoses, she searched for splits or holes that could be disastrous later. The hoses were still snuggly attached and the tanks didn't appear to be any worse for the wear; they even showed to be half-full. Next, she went over the hooks and clamps used to attach the metal plates she cut loose to the crane, which currently sat idle, its operator enjoying a sandwich. One of the hooks no longer resembled a hook for it had twisted and warped out of shape; she sat that one aside and arranged the others in an orderly fashion.

While finishing up, she felt the telltale vibrations of a mech climbing her scaffolding... she felt a certain amount of ownership over the flimsy structure. Earlier, she carved her name in the corner on the off chance another mech desired her new property. Sighing, she stood and waited for Cliffjumper to reach her platform, so she could remind him to give her a heads-up before he started to ascend.

A light gray hand with long fingers reached up and grabbed the side of the planking. Before she had a chance to offer her assistance, Mirage swung himself up with a lithe grace that hid the raw strength required for such a feat.

Velocity schooled her features into what she hoped could pass as casual indifference, covering the shock of seeing that particular mech. Beyond their first meeting, he hadn't said one word to her.

"Where's Cliffjumper?" she asked shifting her weight to one leg.

The blue mech ignored her question and glanced at the markings she had made on the side of the ship, clearly unimpressed by her. "It appears you have plenty of time to..." His optics dimmed slightly then glowed brightly. "...doodle."

The contemptuous sneer on his face made her want to applaud him for finding the correct human word, but doubted he would appreciate her sarcasm. She didn't know anything about the mech and their previous encounter left her wanting little to do with him. She chose to take the higher ground and ignored him... for now.

"Do you have any requests from Ironhide or did you just come to check out the scenery?" Velocity held her tone in check, making sure her words didn't contain any of the irritation she felt. She even managed to smile at the mech.

"I assure you if this wasn't important, I wouldn't waste my time being up here. The weapons specialist requests a piece that is two arn in length and two arn and six espes in width." The way that Mirage said "weapon specialist" made her grind her dental plates. Humans used the same tone when they used racial slurs.

She had him repeat the measurements before she set to work. "So, where is Cliffjumper?" she asked, in an attempt to break some of the tension that hung in the air.

The mech crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. "Hound detected a reading on a security sweep. He and the scout went to investigate."

Velocity gave the Autobot a wide-opticked look, panic jolted through her system, and she whipped about, scanning the valley below. Warpath had left his post near the crane and stood upon a small rise, his optics staring off into the distance. She realized what a wonderful target she would make sitting so high up with so few places to run. _Optimus would at least notify me if there were something wrong...wouldn't he?_ Apprehension whispered through the back of her mind, she wanted to seek the refuge of the below ground base. Having only met two Decepticons, the femme did not care to cross paths with any others. Fear made her hands tremble slightly and she reached out to her mate, seeking his comfort across their bond.

Prime quickly responded, calmly reassuring her before his attention turned away.

Velocity paused, her plasma torch burning unnecessarily into the armor of the Ark, neither she nor Optimus had acknowledged each other publicly or privately during the day. Metal sizzled and popped, she jumped, noticing the damage she inflicted to a perfectly good piece of plating, she focused on what she was doing and chided herself for wasting a nice section of alloy. He mind wanted to wallow in the implications of what it meant that they hadn't sought each other out. She hoped it didn't mean anything.

A shadow blocked the waning sunlight. Glancing to the side, Velocity noticed that Mirage had moved closer to her, his elegant face held a hard, haughty expression. She had almost forgotten that he still stood on the platform with her.

"You must think that you are rather special, don't you?" The animosity in his voice startled her.

Velocity furrowed her brow in a deep frown, but continued working, trying to let the remark roll off her like water off a duck's back.

He leaned closer, and his energy field crackled against hers.

It felt as if something cold had brushed along her and she resisted the urge to move away from him. "You think the Prime will honor you? He might enjoy overloading into you, but all you will ever be is a discharge receptacle." He laughed cruelly. "I have heard that femmes are particularly fun for such things."

The mech's malicious whispers burned in her audio ports, igniting a nuclear fury within her. Without thinking or looking, Velocity lashed out with the torch. The superheated argon scored a jagged path along the hull of the Ark, hissed through open air and missed the mech by mere inches. The Autobot scrambled backwards in a desperate attempt to get away from the thirty-thousand degree plasma. The femme snarled, a warning that any who knew her would heed.

The spy stood, his back rigid and his chin held high, cold blue optics burned with the same luminosity of the cutting torch that had narrowly missed him. A malevolent sneer twisted his face into a demonic mask. "Does the truth hurt? Once we are back on Cybertron, you will find yourself cast aside for one more befitting of the Prime's attentions." The mech didn't stay to hear her reply; with fast, sure movements, he descended to the ground and out of reach.

Her body shook with rage, and she quickly turned inward to block the emotions from her mate. Optimus had no business in this; it was personal, between her and Mirage. She wanted nothing more than to follow that Autobot and tear him apart. Cycling her vents, she forced her hands to stop shaking and unclenched her fists before moving to finish her work.

It took only minutes to have the slab of metal ready for transportation, checking the cables that would suspend it from the crane Velocity gave the operator a thumbs-up and moved to cut the last espes to free the alloy. She had done this at least a hundred times that day and never varied in her routine. She checked every cable, inspected all the hooks and clamps and took every step to protect the safety of the humans that were assisting the Autobots. As the piece of metal came free, it dropped a fraction in an inch until the cables supporting it tightened and stabilized.

Warpath helped guide the slab onto an awaiting flatbed, driven by a flame-covered semi. The femme smiled at her bondmate below. Mirage walked over to the trailer and gestured at the crane operator. The crane hummed, lifting the metal back into the air, and then sat it aside.

Velocity stared in shock for a second. "Hey, what's up?" she hollered.

The blue mech looked up at her. ::It is the wrong size,:: he responded over the comm. ::There is no need to shout.::

The femme dropped her gear on the platform and immediately scurried down the crossbars and support beams. Jumping the last fifty feet, she landed in mud that splattered her armor. Beyond the surprise of landing in mud in the middle of the Nevada desert, she gave it no further attention. "What do you mean it's the wrong size? I cut exactly what you told me," she yelled while moving towards Mirage.

"This is two arn by two arn and six espes. I asked for a two arn by six arn and two espes. Clearly you were not paying attention."

"I cut what you asked for, maybe you made the mistake." Velocity glared at the snide mech, her hands on her hips and her feet firmly planted. She knew she had cut exactly what he had said.

A diesel growled behind her, followed by the distinctive clicks and whirs of a Cybertronian changing form. Optimus stepped between her and Mirage; standing far enough from her that their energy fields didn't touch. The spy bowed deeply and greeted the Autobot commander with something in the High Iaconian dialect. The only phrase the femme translated sounded like, "most pleasured", to her audios.

"Suck ass," she quietly hissed to herself, but Optimus must have heard her. He met her optics, and shook his head slightly. Velocity remained silent, glaring unrepentantly at Mirage.

"What is going on?" The Prime's voice sounded casual, his body relaxed.

Mirage immediately explained the situation and extrapolated nicely on her incompetence. "Ironhide requested that someone relay a set of dimensions to the _young_ femme in Cliffjumper's absence. I gave her the data and repeated it to ensure that she understood what was required. Once she began the assignment, she continued to ask on the whereabouts of Cliffjumper. Her attention seemed to stray from the job and her lack of focus has wasted time and sizable piece of precious armor. Perhaps we would be better suited to have a more skilled mech performing in her stead."

She fumed, but kept her vocals silent, schooling her features to hide the fury that began to roil within. Most of what he said contained enough truths to twist the situation against her.

Their "disagreement" had attracted the attention of others, mech and human alike. Heads turned and a few brave sparks walked closer. When Optimus turned to her, she didn't have an eloquently worded defense. She could not match Mirage's overly articulate and grandiose style.

"I cut the piece in the dimensions he gave me." She crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her chin into the air and waited. Prime responded immediately, but not in the way, she had imagined. His entire frame stiffened, and their bond flared open, sending his exasperation straight to her soul. The intensity of his displeasure left her in shock, making her pump thrum painfully within her chest; she took an involuntary step backwards before he slammed their connection shut. The blue Mosler moved closer to his commanding officer.

Standing with wide optics, she stared at her mate while he opened and closed his fists, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. Velocity had never felt that kind of emotion directed at her, it was akin to a slap in the face. Mustering her courage, she addressed him. "It will only take a few minutes to cut a new piece, I'll get on it right away...sir." Even to her audios, her voice sounded servile and defeated.

Optimus's brow arches knitted together in frustration. The mech acted as if he wanted to say something to her, but changed his mind. Instead, he addressed those standing nearby. "Prowl has just informed me that Secretary Keller arrived by helicopter. His presence was not expected; I must go and meet with him."

Mirage stepped closer to the Autobot leader, as she walked away. The blue mech gave her a knowing smirk then addressed Optimus. "I would be delighted to accompany you. I need to inform Ironhide of the setback."

Prime mumbled a quiet, "Very well," as he transformed back into a semi. The Autobot commander slowly rolled forward, then turned, a flashy blue racecar staying at his side.

Velocity stalked towards the Ark, ignoring the sound of heavy footfalls behind her. She refused to look back as two powerful engines faded into the distance. Replaying the events in her mind didn't help; she could still hear that arrogant voice giving her the measurements she had used. She even asked him to repeat them and he did so. He'd been the one to make the mistake, not her, but she was the one who ended up looking a fool.

A large hand touched her shoulder, and she swung her arm to knock the appendage away, not caring who wanted to console her. The muck under her feet slid with her movements and she landed on her back with all the gracefulness of a rock. The wet dirt sucked at her as she flailed around, trying to sit up. Bracing her elbows in the mire, she pushed only to have them slip out from under her. Giving up, she rolled onto her side and made it to her knees before Warpath offered his massive hand to her again. She ignored the offer, preferring to remain where she was.

"What the fuck!' she yelled making a fist and punching the mud repeatedly. The thick, slurping sound only made her madder. There shouldn't be mud here.

Pulling her arm back to assault the ground once more, she couldn't figure out why it wouldn't respond to her commands. Whipping her head, she noticed pale green and yellow fingers wrapped around her wrist. She tugged and it wouldn't release it's vice like grip. Looking around Velocity found herself staring into the yellow optics of Cosmos.

"Downshift, you are making a mess," the mech stated reasonably.

She gave a bark of mirthless laughter. "Why is this even here?" Picking up a handful of sludge, it oozed between her fingers and fell back to the ground with thick plops. Addressing the mud issue seemed safer than dealing with what had happened between her, Optimus and Mirage.

The mech shrugged. "It is a simple leak. While dismantling the starboard engines they pierced a coolant line," He gave as an explanation while offering his hand to her. She accepted.

"So the Autobots are letting God-knows-what-chemical to leach..." she looked around to determine the size of the problem, "...into a couple dozen acres of land. Absolutely brilliant. The media will love this," her voice dripped with sarcasm. Testing her footing, before taking the next step, Velocity slowly made her way to the base of her platform.

"Ratchet has already determined that the coolant will pose little or no threat to the organic life in the area. If anything, it could be deemed as beneficial considering the lack of precipitation in this region." Cosmos's heavier build didn't seem to be much of a deterrent for walking through the viscous earth, if anything, his wider feet acted like snowshoes, and didn't sink near as far as her slender ones. He strolled along with minimal effort while she struggled to just remain upright. The parched desert soil rapidly absorbed every available drop of moisture, sucking it deeper and deeper, making the mud deeper and deeper.

Reaching the pole-like legs of the scaffolding, Cosmos grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her to face him. "What has occurred between you and Mirage?" He asked in an unusually demanding voice.

"I have no clue what you are talking about." Grabbing a cross support above her she tightened the hypercoils in she arms, preparing to pull herself up. A firm hand held her in place.

"Velocity, I would rather have Starscream covering my back than Mirage, for I know the seeker will attempt to shoot me." His matter-of-fact tone caused her to pause and consider his words.

Cocking her head to the side, she looked at him expectantly. She released the scaffolding, and crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you know about Mirage?"

Cosmos gave her an appraising look, and then moved deeper into the shadows under the Ark; he beckoned her to follow him. She did, then chose a place along the bulk head to lean against. Crossing her arms, she waited. This started to feel like a scene out of a spy movie, or a badly written drama.

The mech glanced around nervously, his yellow optics cast an eerie glow on the hull of the spaceship, and he spoke barely louder than a whisper. "Mirage is not to be trusted. His loyalties are divided."

Her curiosity piqued, Velocity remained absolutely still. "Ok...why? I need a little more than vague insinuations. I despise Mirage, but that doesn't mean that he is anything other than an Autobot."

The flier reached for her and she took a step back, lifting her chin in subtle warning. Sorrow lit Cosmos's optics, but something hard and unyielding laid buried deep within the amber glow. "I lack sufficient evidence to bring my suspicions before the Prime, but disclosing validated information is harmless enough." He paused to look around before continuing. "Mirage hails from the aristocratic elite."

Velocity frowned, looking past the mech she wondered if she had missed something. She tapped her fingers against her elbow. "Clarify," she demanded, watching Warpath talk to the crane operator.

Cosmos cocked his head to the side then squinted his optics in a smile. "I apologize. Data I consider base knowledge is unknown to you. The aristocrats held the majority of the wealth, power and political influence on the planet, and only those with an unbroken lineage back to one of the original thirteen could call himself a noble. The Legend of Primus stated that he created thirteen beings to populate his world and within each of them, he instilled a piece of his own spark. To be of the Noble class a mech must have resulted from the union of two other nobles. As far as I know the only Autobots of Nobility are Ratchet and Mirage, the rest of their peers sided with Megatron." He held up his finger to shush her before she could ask any questions. "Rumors have surrounded Optimus, because it has been a long held belief that only a direct descendant of Primus can bear the matrix. However, most of the nobles have wanted to unseat the current Prime from the first orn he ascended. They consider him a fraud and degenerate, but back to Mirage. "

She didn't want to get back to Mirage; she wanted to know more about the matrix and Optimus. The thought of anyone thinking Optimus as a "fraud and degenerate" rankled her, but she kept quiet. Perhaps she could ask the scientist questions after he had finished explaining about the hated, blue Mosler.

"Mirage held a reputation for throwing lavish parties where only the upper members of Cybertronian society were in attendance. I can assure you that having the Prime and the Lord High Protector along with members from the Council of Ancients as guests was considered the epitome of prestige. But the problem arises that to have such excessive venues one needs access to massive amounts of credits to throw away."

The heavily armored mech had Velocity's attention, and without thinking she took a step towards him, mud squished under her feet. He leaned closer, only a couple of feet from her.

Tapping a finger in the palm of his hand, Cosmos continued. "There is some evidence to support the whispered claims that Mirage has spent a considerable amount of his fortune, and has turned to selling information his position gave him access to. How much of it went to Decepticon audios is open for debate, but it is known that the Prime severed almost all ties with the Nobility right before the war began in earnest."

Velocity turned to look out from under the wing that had given them a measure of privacy. The sky had turned a deep purple with feathery clouds the color of padparadscha sapphires and Venus shone like a bright beacon from her home in the heavens. Her mind spun at a frantic rate making connections that may or may not have been there. Scanning the activity she looked for a flash of blue to warn of Mirage's return, but the mech didn't reappear. She turned back to Cosmos, her mouth turned downward in a deep frown. "Surely Optimus is aware of this?"

The green Autobot nodded. "I am certain that the Prime has been informed of Mirage's past, but I still have my concerns. He is accustomed to living a lifestyle few mechs would dare to dream about and none could ever achieve, and what good is it to survive a war only to be unable to buy an astroliter of low grade?"

She let the implications of the mech's words sink in, and cold dread pooled at the base of her spinal support. "Do you think he is still selling information?" Her mind ran in circles. If what Cosmos told her had the slightest bit of truth, then... she didn't want to think about the implications.

The mech shifted nervously and looked around again. He leaned close to her, taking her hands in his. "I fear that Mirage has betrayed the Autobots in the worst possible way, and I cannot prove it...yet." His golden optics burned with the righteous fervor of a zealot. "Just promise me that you will remain weary of Mirage. One such as yourself might be considered an easy target."

Velocity stared at Cosmos, the mech's vagueness and the somber tones of his words left more questions in her mind than answers. She wanted to shake the Autobot and force him to spew out everything he knew and all that he had only assumptions for. Instead, she stood with him holding her hands and a look of stupefied shock on her face. "Why would you think such a thing about a fellow Autobot? No offense, but you did spend some time in stasis here on Earth."

Golden optics smiled at her, and a chuckle escaped his processor. "No offense taken. I find it refreshing that you question what I have told you, for without evidence you have no reason to believe me." He paused, seeming to gather himself before he continued. "Many vorns ago I had the displeasure of intercepting part of a communiqué between Mirage and a known Decepticon supporter. I cannot risk telling you what that message contained, because if rumor reached the wrong audios, I fear that Mirage would disappear again, like he did after Jetfire escaped from custody."

Her body stiffened, and powerful hypercoils tensed, she wanted to tackle him and force more information out of him. Instead, she locked her gears and suppressed the violent urge. She didn't know who Jetfire was, or what he did, but the implications that Mirage had helped him escape fell all around her like hailstones.

Cosmos suddenly scrutinized her hands, as though they were the most fascinating thing in the world. He turned them over, stroking his fingers over the dings in her paintwork, seemingly utterly focused on her palm. "I don't think you have done enough damage to notify Ratchet. This should repair itself during your next recharge."

Velocity stared at the mech and tried to pull her hands back. His incongruous remark made her wonder if he had blown a fuse... until Cliffjumper came bobbing up beside her.

"Did you damage yourself?" The bubbly mech attempted to look at her hands, but Cosmos pressed her palms together, keeping the damage free surfaces out of sight.

Cosmos addressed the red scout. "Nothing that warrants concern. She should be able to continue her assignments."

She slowly pulled her hands out of the green mech's grasp. Looking at Cliffjumper she asked, "What have you got for me?"

The red mech fidgeted, glancing over his shoulder. "Ironhide wants to know what is taking so long."

_**XxxX**_

Tired didn't describe how she felt. Her body ached in places she didn't know she had, her mind had given up trying to sort out the events of the day...well, yesterday considering the sun had already lightened the sky again. While working she chewed on Cosmos's words, and didn't come up with any sensible conclusions. She fumed to herself about Mirage's hostility and about Optimus's displeasure. She became annoyed at Cliffjumper's endless questions and observations. Rational thought had long since abandoned her, as had her sense of humor. Every problem she faced had a mech attached to it, and mechs were the last damn things she wanted to deal with at the moment. And what did she behold before her optics, but a mess of mechs, all dripping wet and shrouded in steam.

Rubbing her head wearily, the femme leaned a shoulder against the slick wall. Cold, wet soil stuck to almost every part of her frame and she wanted it off. She had slipped no less than three times in the sticky, slimy filth and it proceeded to cover almost every part of her body. Fortunately, she wasn't the only one. Prowl had lost his balance twice as had Wheeljack. The grit ground in her gears making her movements jerky and uncomfortable, it fell off her in clumps and splatted on the floor where she stood. She only wanted a shower, but every stall had at least one mech in it and a few had a couple of mechs squeezed into the tight area. All of their optics glowed at her, until some of them turned back to their bathing unconcerned.

"Hey, you can come join me. I'll get you polished right up." Warpath hollered at her while he vigorously scrubbed at his chest.

Mustering up enough energy to sneer, she thrust her chin in the air. "Go polish yourself," she said without much inflection, and wondered if the 'Bot would understand the reference. It would be a while before the mechs cleared out and she didn't want to stand around waiting, which involved too much effort.

She sluggishly made her way down the hall, dragging her hand over the wall to keep herself from falling over. She made it to her quarters and finally to her bed. Sitting on the hard surface of the bunk, she wondered how long it would take before she could have a turn in the showers. Another warning flashed across her HUD and she ignored it as she had ignored the previous ones. She hurt and wanted to sleep and a bath... a real bath, with deep, hot water that she could recline in, and bubbles. Lots and lots of bubbles. Maybe scented of lavender or rosemary. Something strong, heady and soothing.

Velocity felt the shutters to her optics flutter as static filled her vision. The world receded and her limbs weighed a couple of tons. Thoughts came at an infuriatingly slow rate, jumbled together.

Fatigue took its toll and her systems went into a rapid shutdown before she could override them.

_**XxxX**_

After a long and stressful day, Optimus wanted nothing more than to relax, and spend a little time unwinding with his bonded. Things had started easy enough. It wasn't often that he could indulge in menial labor and not have to make any decisions; today most of those fell to Ironhide. The warrior had shown his legendary skills as an architect by tackling the issues of reinforcing the military buildings, without stressing their internal framework, leaving the Prime with nothing to do but stay out of the way. Prowl had immediately told him to start pulling a trailer, and he had obliged. Under his leadership, the mech with the best skills for the circumstances stepped forward and lead the way. A weapons specialist had taken charge, the Prime became a labor bot, but curiously the SIC remained the SIC. The flexibility in the Autobot chain of command made them far more efficient than the rigid hierarchy of the Decepticons. Once the Secretary of Defense had arrived, events took a more serious turn; Cosmos had run out of time and the House wanted answers. Keller delivered the message in person so that there would be little doubt of the seriousness of the situation. An Autobot delegation had to be in Washington within a week.

Walking through the antechamber he used as his office, Prime located his mate on his sensors. A thrill passed along his circuits; he had been able to steal a few glimpses of the red femme as she scrambled along the outside of the Ark unaware of his optics following her. He enjoyed watching her move; she had a smooth, organic grace that translated well into her svelte form.

Long strides carried him down the hall and to their recharge chamber at the very end. An anticipatory growl rumbled in his chest as he keyed in the code to unlock the door. The growl ended in an odd choke when his optics found his bondmate. Velocity lay on her side, precariously balanced on the edge of the bunk, her feet were almost touching the ground and her slender arms dangled in the air. The femme looked as though she had fallen into recharge the instant her aft had touched the berth and fell over. Optimus felt certain that was what had happened given her unnatural pose and the fact that dirt covered most of her body.

Sighing, he walked over to her, attempting to muffle his footfalls so he didn't startle her. "Velocity," he whispered, trying to find a clean place on her frame to touch her, but that proved almost impossible. The mud caked nearly every part, masquerading the red fembot as a dirt clod. Giving up his attempt at locating scarlet armor, he stroked her head and whispered her name again. A chunk of grime fell off and broke apart on their bunk. Optimus made a snort of disgust.

Rubbing his face with his hand, he decided niceties were a waste of time. Velocity needed to get up and she needed to get clean. "You are disgusting and not recharging in my bunk like this, so up," he snapped in a tone that normally made his generals stand at attention. The femme didn't even twitch; she only slowly cycled her vents.

Her lack of response left him confused, but only for an astrosecond. He grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her while barking her name... nothing. Worry started to tease its way into his thoughts, but to contact Ratchet for a slumbering femme would guarantee a slew of snide comments. Scanning her quickly, he didn't find any injuries or anything that would obviously result in system failures. Nothing that would warrant the CMO's attention. He settled on a different route

::Optimus Prime to Prowl.:: he called over a secured communications frequency.

::Sir.:: came the SIC's neutral reply.

He paused trying to phrase his query as to not be overly obvious. He gave up and decided on the direct approach. ::Could you enlighten me as to why I have a completely unresponsive femme in my bunk?::

The long stretch of silence from the tactician informed him he had caught the mech completely off guard, a feat in and of itself.

::Sir, I have conferred with Ironhide and he suggests that your situation could be the result of poor technique or the fact that Velocity worked without a break.:: the SIC responded with perfectly professional tones.

Optimus wondered if he should demote both mechs, but he dropped the idea. With no one to replace them, he would have to promote the twins, and acknowledging the comment would only give 'Hide a reason to continue to goad him. Stroking the femme's helm, he smiled softly at her. ::Where is Ironhide now?::

::Sitting across from me in my office. We are assessing the progress made on the Ark today.:: That explained why Ironhide had been brought into the conversation.

Sighing in defeat, Optimus looked at the exhausted, dirty femme. He didn't like it when she pushed herself past her endurance parameters. ::Prowl, take Velocity off the duty roster for tomorrow.:: He closed the line before his SIC had a chance to respond.

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest he wondered what the best course of action should be. He could open the fourth room that neither of them used and recharge in there, but that wasn't his... their bunk. Leaning over he uncrossed his arms and put a hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip. Annoyed, he effortlessly pushed the femme away from the edge; dried, crumbling dirt marked her trail. She softly cycled her vents and he wondered how much dirt clogged her filters. Prime shook his head and wiped as much of the mess into the floor as he could before climbing in beside his mate and powering down.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: ****Important: the rating for this fic is about to change to M **for sex and violence. If this is a problem with any of my readers, please let me know and we can work something out.

Plasma cutters can burn at 30,000 degrees Fahrenheit and are fueled with oxygen, nitrogen or argon. Yay, Google. Just for reference the movie states that sabot rounds burn at 6,000 degrees, so Mirage really did want to get out of the way.

To **Taluliaka** - Don't feel bad, It has taken me a month to update HOTF. Thank you I shall try to include more turbo squirrels, they are slippery lil' buggers though. To **Ladyofthebookworms** - Prowl never does anything without good reason, so don't hate him. What do you want to bet Catherine had her house fumigated? To **Camilla DeWinter** - Thank you, there are more developments to come. I am glad someone noticed Prowl's comment, he really is a decent mech. To **LibraryDrone SAR **- Thank you. I have always wondered how the "energy field concept would really work and influence their social dynamics. Sorry, behaviorist at work. To **Cybernetic Mango **- *sniff sniff* I miss Steve he was just so perfect for parody. To **Novamyth **- Prowl never acts without a good reason. He is only concerned about everybody's well-being. And Lysol wouldn't kill Simmons germs. **To everyone **who has placed this on favorite and alerts, thank you. To those who don't comment, don't be shy, I don't bite…much.


	27. Dirty

**Rating: M** for adult themes: Language, violence, character death, smexing...in the shower, torture, angst, and the occasional stupid joke.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could. Also, let it be known that I am ignoring the 2009 movie Revenge Of The Fallen, not because I am that important, but because I am lazy and refuse to re-write almost 200,000 words of text.

**Beta read** by **Okami-chan,** Destroyer of Passive Verbs and Pointer-Outer of Badly Worded Phrases, and Disorganized Sentences. Seriously Wolfie, without your suggestions this chapter would have sucked. I would also to thank **I-love-me-some-leggy-poo **for giving this a final pat down.

_**XxxX **_

_**Dirt Part 2**_

_**XxxX**_

He carefully rubbed the femme's head and trailed his hand down her shoulder, making the lazy circles that he knew she liked. Light touches and soft caresses meant to tenderly coax her into awakening. He had allowed her to remain in recharge for much longer than the couple of Earth hours she required. The others would chide him for spoiling her, but he truly didn't care. He felt she earned the extra rest.

Sitting on the bunk beside her, the Prime carefully removed some of the dried dirt that clung to the side of Velocity's face. The glow of his optics softened while he watched her sleep, and his spark flared with the love and devotion he felt towards the smaller femmebot.

Never once, had he asked Primus to bless him with a sparkmate, but when he met Elita, he knew that The God of Light had provided. Losing her had shattered his world, and he lost the will to live, but the Matrix of Leadership wouldn't allow him to succumb to the effects of having their bond severed. It forced him to endure the excruciating pain of having part of his spark wither and die and made him live despite the hollow emptyness that remained. For many vorns thereafter, Optimus despised the artifact buried within his chest. It forced him to carry on when he felt as if he had nothing left to give. It had stolen away the simple life he had actually enjoyed and vaulted him to the exalted station of Prime, a title he had never desired. Ultimately, it had cost him the life of his bondmate, but it had also given him the ability to preserve an organic's soul. A strange twist, that had given him a second chance, a second mate to stand beside him, someone to share his life with, a companion to help soothe the lonely ache in his chest. The crimson and copper femme held little resemblance his rose hued femme, but they both had an iron-hard core, a strength that came from deep within. Where Elita spoke with a gentle assurance, Velocity...well, he planned to eventually break her of her use of expletives.

The femme's vents slowly cycled as he ran his hand down her arm to her hand. Gently taking the small appendage, he held onto it, a simple gesture of affection among both humans and mechs alike. Never in his wildest, most selfish desires had he thought he might find another: a lively tenacious femme who could keep up with the Prime of Cybertron, and all the demands in his life, while wanting the solitude and serenity of a simple existence. Many could have fulfilled his base needs, but he could never have been sure if they wanted Orion or Optimus, with Velocity, he had no doubt, his station did not impress her, and she told him so frequently. She balked at his authority; she snarled when he tried to dominate her, she demanded her independence. Elita had frequently done the same, but by using drastically different methods. On many occasions, her sly and gentle manipulations had easily backed him into a corner, and put him in his place.

He enjoyed sharing his days with the temperamental red femme. She kept him guessing and filled his war-ravaged life with verve and whimsy. She reminded him to just live.

Letting go of her hand, he trailed his fingers down Velocity's side to her waist, Optimus dislodged another dirt clod and it fell on to the bunk with a dull thud, breaking apart into a crumbly mess. He rubbed his fingers together to remove any residual filth. Shaking his head, he held a chuckle in check. It was taking her longer to register his presence than he had anticipated. "You need to get up," Prime whispered softly in her audios.

She responded with a piteous whimper, and curled into a tight ball.

Standing, Optimus carefully tugged at her. Her systems slowly started booting up. Within the solitude of their room, his acute audios could detect a soft hum as her gears, routers and sensors powered on. He didn't want to rush her, but she needed to get to the wash racks and remove the dried mud from her chassis before it caused problems. "Come on," he encouraged. "You need to get cleaned up before Ratchet sees you in this mess; he will blame me and dent my cranial plates."

"Thas urrr prom-lem." Velocity mumbled while Optimus took her by the arms and pulled her to a sitting position. "Feel like shit," The femme rubbed her face with a grime-coated hand and blinked in confusion. The normally vibrant optics glowed dimly and she swayed unsteadily, Optimus didn't want to let go, in case she fell over.

Squatting down, he looked the femme in the optics, and then ran a quick scan. "You feel bad because you grossly over exerted yourself yesterday and you aren't accustomed to that much activity. Now, let's get you up and moving. A thorough cleansing will make a vast improvement." He let go of one of her arms, and moved his hand, cupping it around her face; Velocity nuzzled it for an astrosecond and then relaxed her weight against him, optics dimming quickly. "No you don't, "he chided, a trace of humor gracing his words. "Up."

"No," the femme whined weakly pulled against his hold on her. He caught her glancing at the bunk with a look of intense longing.

"I said, 'up'", he commanded with more force. Optimus gathered her into his arms, picking her up off the bunk and slowly sat her feet on the floor.

Small hands clutched at him for support. Without warning, she shoved herself away from him and stumbled towards the door of their sleeping quarters, holding onto the wall for support.

"You're just doing this because you're mad at me," the femme said quietly.

He stood there in mild shock, his optics wide in confusion. "What? I am not angry with you." He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away; the ping of metal striking metal echoed in the room.

"Mad, angry, miffed, torqued, annoyed, irritated, whatever." Velocity waved a hand dismissively. "Po-ta-to. Po-tah-to. You think I'm incompetent and have more faith in Mirage than in me." She glanced over her shoulder, lips pressed firmly together, and her optics narrowed, burning with pain and rage. She snapped her head back around, and stormed out, leaving him alone to mull over her words and erratic behavior.

Optimus resisted the urge to go after his mate, grab her by the arm and demand to know why the frag she was acting this way. He didn't want to enter into an argument with a partially online femme, especially since he didn't have any inkling as to what currently vexed her. Hypercoils tensed beneath his armor, his hands curled into balls of frustration as his optics dimmed while he searched his memory files. Starting at her comment, he worked backwards. It took about a klik for him to find the data, and when he did, he wondered if Ratchet should check his processor for blown circuits. Humiliation and hot embarrassment settled in his spark. He had divided his attention to so many different issues yesterday that he forgot to truly notice the one closest to him. That made it official. He, Optimus Prime, was the biggest glitch in the galaxy.

Standing his full height and squaring his shoulders, he stalked after his bonded. He needed to make amends before the situation worsened.

_**XxxX**_

Her footfalls echoed against the tile walls, and no matter how softly she stepped, the sound bounced around, amplifying itself into an annoying discord. Within in a couple of steps she gave up any attempts at stealth and stomped to an empty stall. The room was cavernous in its dimension. A half circle of numerous shiny water spigots, sleek knobs, and walled partitions consumed most of the space, stalls for individual mechs to shower in. A small cubby offered a more human friendly environment. Even though few humans on the base ever used this area, perhaps the thought of a seven ton robot walking around on slick, wet tiles didn't seem all that conducive to survival.

Randomly choosing a stall, Velocity reached out and turned on the water. She fiddled with the dials and controls, until the water achieved just the right temperature at just the right setting. She might have a bullet proof outer armor, but she could still appreciate the hedonistic simplicity of the perfect shower; hot steam swirling around her, the messaging pounding of pressurized water, and the sharp smell of soap.

Stepping into the pulsating jets, she rolled her head forward. The pressurized water pinged across the back of her neck, soothing servomotors that still vibrated from all her work the previous day. She whimpered as the water caressed over particularly hyperactive sensors, but didn't move except to turn or lift an arm. The pounding water jets worked at removing the grime from her chassis. Whatever the coolant was, when it mixed with the Nevada soil and dried, it produced something akin to crumbly concrete. She would have to scrub hard enough to remove paint in order to get it off. Right now, though, just standing under the nozzle and enjoying the warm water running over her soothed more than just tired hypercoils. She didn't want to think. She didn't want to feel. Upon waking up, she had a few blissful moments of forgetfulness, and the trials of the day before never occurred. She had forgotten, for just a few seconds that Optimus, her Optimus, hadn't given her explanation a second thought and sided with the mech that might be trying to come between them. Then her mate had sent the rancor he felt straight to her soul before slamming the door on their connection, leaving her to flail around blindly. His displeasure and disapproval had echoed darkly in his optics. Apparently, he had thought of her as a failure. She had worked hard checking and double-checking, making sure her cuts were perfectly straight and impeccable. Yesterday she wanted to prove her worth and one mistake had cost her more than she wanted to admit.

Arching her back, she raised both arms over her head, stretching and straightening them. She watched the mud roll off of them in thin rivers, while replaying the events over and over in her mind. Velocity still believed that Mirage had told her the wrong measurements. After the talk with Cosmos, she had little doubt that he done so on purpose in an attempt to undermine her. But, should she even listen to rumors considered ancient by her standards and from a planet located across the galaxy? On the other hand, the scrawny mech had given her a look she could only describe as triumphant and walked close enough to Optimus for their fields to mingle. She had wanted nothing more at the moment than to claw that smug expression off Mirage's face. Cosmos had told her that Mirage and Optimus had known each other long before the war and she wondered if they had done more than just run in the same circles. _Could they have once been lovers_ she asked herself, and immediately jealousy reared its malicious, green, viper-head in her soul. She stomped it down before it could take hold, rotting its way to her core. Nothing could change the situation, Mirage wanted Optimus. She knew that she couldn't compete against a Cybertronian for the affections of her mate. She didn't even know where to begin. She lacked the skills needed for seductive innuendos and beguiling flirtations. She would just wind up looking like an ass attempting such things.

Dropping her arms to her side, and hanging her head, she sighed in defeat as the water dribbled underneath her armor and trickled along wires and diodes. She wondered if it would be easier to accept the fact that she probably couldn't fulfill his needs like a member from his own race could. In some twisted way that made perfect sense, they were from radically different species after all, but of all the mechs to compete for Optimus' attention, why did it have to be Mirage? She might be able to tolerate Optimus having an affair with several of the others, but not Mirage.

Heavy footsteps alerted her to the presence of another. Glancing up, she caught Optimus attempting to quietly enter the shower area. Her mate stiffened when she looked at him, aware that his presence had been noticed. Velocity snorted contemptuously, the echoing walls made stealth impossible, every step he took sounded loudly in the tiled room. She turned her back, refusing to acknowledge him, hoping he would get the hint.

"I can understand why you feel the way that you do, but you have misinterpreted the situation." His words thrummed like drum beats against the ceramic.

"I understand the situation perfectly... whenever there is.... an issue, you will automatically side with someone you have a past with. It makes perfect sense. I can't do what he can, I can't ...." The femme bit off her words, but she could not hide the pain from her voice. Her soul sputtered and twisted tightly in her chest.

Thick arms reached around her and adjusted the water pressure along with the solvent mix. She attempted to duck under one of them, but he dropped it low enough to block her escape. She turned to face him with hands on her hips and narrowed optics. She firmly planted her feet, water pouring off the angles and points of her armor. She wanted to resemble a vengeful siren rising from the Aegean Sea, but had a feeling she only managed to look like a drippy, grief-filled femmebot.

Troubled azure optics bore right into her soul. "I think we need to talk about this." His voice sounded no louder than a human whisper.

"Famous last words." she retorted then looked away. The mold growing in the grout suddenly became more interesting than her mate. "Optimus, just admit it. You're mad at me, you think I'm a waste of time and being with one of your own is pretty appealing right now."

Optimus grabbed her arms hard enough to hurt at first. "You are not a waste of time!"

The sudden intensity of his words drew her gaze upward faster than any apologies or corrections he might have given. She briefly met his blazing optics, but couldn't look at him, ashamed of her childish actions. She didn't even notice how tightly he gripped her, not until his gears whined in protest as he opened his hands. Velocity cringed; his raw emotion startling her. She dropped her head and looked away, submissive, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his anger.

Prime cycled his vents before he continued. "I am not mad at you," he stated softly. "I will never, could never be mad at you." Silver fingers touched her chin and gently tilted her head up to look at him. "You are my bonded. I cannot change my mind now, nor can you. What we have is permanent; it cannot be altered, reduced or broken. Only death will ever separate us. Do you think I would have bonded myself to you if someone like Mirage could so easily garner my attention?"

Velocity pulled her head out of his grip and stepped back. Warm water splattered on her shoulders, and ran down her body. Her hands curled and uncurled, she couldn't focus her optics on anything in particular, jumping from tile, to Optimus' arm, to the stream of liquid falling around them. Her thoughts scattered before her, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. Turning inward, she felt nothing from him. An impenetrable wall stood between them, blank and unreadable, he had shut her out, hiding his emotions. She didn't know how to interpret anything he said or did. She couldn't get a sense of his feelings, but at the same time, he couldn't influence hers. Instead, she had to focus only on the mech before her. She had to read his actions as she did any other being, mech or human. She couldn't tell exactly what he meant without the bond open between them. So, she hazarded a guess. "My error caused a large chunk of valuable metal to go to waste, and..."

Raising a hand, he interrupted her. "I highly doubt that you were at fault. I have seen your work, and it can only be described as precise. My frustration was at the situation. I didn't have any evidence other than your word against his, and I cannot act in a way that someone could construe as favoritism. I am sorry that I caused you distress." The Autobot's optics searched hers, and she wondered if he sought absolution.

He knelt before her and laid a hand on her shoulders. The touch lingered while she looked away. Shuttering her optics she sighed. "I'm going to screw this up aren't I?" The words slipped out before she had a chance to stop them.

Velocity felt foolish and infantile, she misjudged his actions, misinterpreted his signals. She responded without reasoning. She knew that she should have absolute trust in him by now, but sometimes the knee-jerk reactions she felt overshadowed everything else. She wondered why he put up with her, and that thought quickly spiraled into other insecurities. Insecurities she didn't like to think about: fear of failing, fear of succeeding, fear of losing Optimus. She never stopped to think about how much she needed him or what she would do if she lost him... assuming she survived. She refused to admit how difficult it was to be the one on the outside, the one that needed to catch up in both skills and knowledge. Without Prime's gentle coaxing and guidance she doubted she would have made it this far. Velocity wanted to know at what point she stopped living life for herself and started living it for him. Melancholy washed over her and she didn't know why Optimus even bothered with someone that co-dependent.

"Stop," the softly spoken command held intense emotion.

Velocity didn't respond.

"Please stop," he whispered as he rested his head on top of hers, wrapping his long arms around her frame. "I can hear echoes of your thoughts, you are chasing ideas that will erode your confidence and poison your soul. You have bonded yourself to another, and that is the ultimate act of trust anyone can ask for, but do not forget I have also given myself to you. I rely upon your presence as much as you rely upon mine. That is the nature of bonding."

She looked up at her mate, and Optimus gave her the ghost of a smile. "Velocity, I do not consider such dependency a weakness, for it forces us to constantly look beyond the here and now, to weigh our actions much more carefully. It makes us think beyond our immediate desires and emotions to realize how we affect others, and overcome selfishness and self-centered tendencies. It takes strength and courage to place the needs of others first."

Velocity shook her head, and her gaze never wavered from his. "I think you have an over inflated opinion of me. I am not that kind of person. I..."

Without warning the larger Autobot spun her around and pressed her back to his chest, his arms holding her against him. "Shh," he whispered into her audios, silencing her. She pushed against him, gears straining in futility, but she might as well have tried to push a mountain. After a couple of seconds she relaxed and allowed his electrical field to wash over her, envelope her in its familiar comfort.

Prime's hold on her loosened, but she remained snug against him, not wanting to leave his embrace. He trailed his hand over her hip, and she leaned against his arm, arcing into his hand. The mech suddenly snorted, and showed her the wet muck on his fingertips, glancing down she could see red armor peeking out from the groves in the mud his fingers had made.

"Step forward, we need to get you cleaned." His change in tone and attitude told her that the discussion had ended. Any rebuttal would go unheard. She realized he had said all that he cared to and wanted to move forward. Millions of years of being Prime had left him with a few habits she intended to break him from.

Velocity still needed some of her questions answered, so she chose a different approach. Reaching up she grabbed a large bristled brush and started scrubbing her arm with it. "I... I overheard some of the mechs talking. They said that Mirage could be a traitor."

The mech froze, and not a single gear whined or hydraulic hissed from behind her. The silence stretched for a full minute before he spoke. "I do not agree with Mirage's views, but he has proven invaluable to the Autobot cause. Time and again, he has placed himself in harm's way when logic would dictate that he save himself. I do not condone many of the methods he has employed over the vorns, but the results cannot be denied. I to have heard many rumors about him and once such talk drove Mirage away even though no evidence existed to link him to the act.

"Velocity, the Autobot ranks are made up of a diversity of Cybertronians. They come from all stations and functions of society, and they do not always... get along. In truth, I do not like some of my officers, but I highly doubt I could find more suitable mechs to fill those positions. You will find the occasional mech that you cannot develop an amiable relationship with. I am unsure what has occurred between you and Mirage, but I have complete faith in his loyalty to the Autobot cause."

Bubbles from the solvent slid down her armor, their rainbow hued half circles reflected her image back at her. She wanted time to mull things over. She didn't like Mirage, and knew that they would never have a civil relationship, especially if he saw her as competition. He might have designs on her mech, but did that make Mirage the enemy?

Her thoughts shattered as silver fingers deftly plucked the brush out of her hand. She watched while he hung it back on the wall, wondering what he intended to do next. Optimus removed the shower nozzle from its catch above her head, and directed the water at her shoulders.

"I can clean myself," she snapped, standing absolutely still with her arms pressed to her side.

"I am aware of this fact." A trace of humor tainted his reply. With one hand, he guided the spray while he worked the more stubborn chunks loose with the other.

She shifted, widening her stance for stability, stretching an arm out to balance herself against the wall. he picked up the faint whir of her mate's gears as he washed her back. Gentle massages, eased away tension of both the physical and emotional variety. She shuttered her optics and sighed with contentment. It wasn't fair that he knew exactly where and how she liked to be touched.

A hand trailed down her aft, spreading across the curve of her rotator cuff. His thumb curled over her hip, but his fingers slipped between her legs. She shivered at the contact. She couldn't help it; she had yet to lose some of her organic responses. Optimus growled behind her, fingers cinching over her groin. She wriggled again, a small gasp puffing out of her mouth. One of his fingers pinged delightfully against the joining of thigh and hip and debris dropped from where it had wedged into that seam.

"I think he likes you," she blurted out, anything to push aside thoughts of temptation that had started to creep lasciviously in her mind.

"I am unconcerned with Mirage's desires," her mate commented flatly. He squeezed her plating, showing exactly where his concerns were at the moment. "He knows nothing of me, only of Prime. Had I not ascended to my current station, he wouldn't have ever known I existed."

Velocity detected a flicker of...something from her mate as he opened the bond between them. She couldn't call it disgust, more like apathy. His hand slid up from her inner thigh and lingered on her aft picking at more dirt stuck to her. "You really should have cleaned this off. It is removing your paint in places."

With a dismissive wave of the hand, she ignored his comment. "So, you don't find Mirage at all attractive?" she teased slightly, rubbing her aft against his hand as she shifted. Her words and actions hid the fear in her soul. Call it feminine idiocy, but she needed to know if Optimus even found the mech appealing.

She turned to look at Prime, and a spray of water bounced off her shoulder and struck her optic. She threw her hands up to her face, shuttering her optics to clear the water out.

A chuckle echoed over the tiles, and fingers wrapped around her hands and drew them away from her head. He tilted her head up, his thumb brushing over her cheek structure. He gazed down into her optics, the mechanics of his face tilting and tipping expressively. "I have no idea if Mirage is considered attractive. I suppose he is. Many aristocratic mechs appeared to be interested in him. To use the human term, he isn't my type." A hand spun her around and pushed her back against the wall. The sudden change startled her and she let out a yelp. Humor glowed in azure optics, and Prime slid his hand around her head, fingertips rubbing over the seams of her helm. Velocity didn't care if he only intended to remove dirt, it felt damn good.

"So tall, skinny assholes don't do it for you?" she commented not even bothering to hide the purr in her voice, nor the mischievous glint in her optics. Reaching out, she trailed her smaller hand along his, a touch that could be either chaste or seductive, depending on how her mate chose to interpret it.

"Mech."

"What?"

Optimus diverted his optics and tucked his head 'down a little. "I said 'mech'. I prefer femmes." He wouldn't look at her while he chipped away at a particularly stubborn patch of dried muck near her knee. "I am sure that many, Mirage included, would be overjoyed if I gave up my depraved and unrepentant ways." The corner of his mouth turned up in a self-deprecating smile.

Velocity's sarcastic comeback stalled in her vocals, but she didn't have time to ponder over his comment.

Her mate abruptly stood and lifted her off the ground, pressing her back against the tiles. He thrust himself against her pinning her body in place.

She grabbed at him, even though she knew he wouldn't let her fall. Looping an arm around his neck and her legs around his middle, she locked onto him.

His optics bore into hers, the brilliant azure darkening. He shifted against her, clinking against her body. "I will not replace you with anyone else. The idea that you would even think such a thing frustrates me. What do I have to do to convince you how much you mean to me?" Prime's hands tightened on her legs, and his words pounded heavily in her soul.

She dipped her head, looking up at him with sorrowful optics. "I can't believe you even try to put with me. I wouldn't want to put up with me".

A deep chuckle vibrated through her entire frame, 'startling her into looking up. The corner of Prime's mouth twitched. "I put up with you because I enjoy a challenge."

She stiffened, her shoulders lifting indignantly. Squirming and pushing, she tried to move away from him, but he held her fast. He leaned against her, forcing her to stop wiggling. His optics softened, the tension in his face slipping away. He eased up on the pressure he exerted on her, but only enough that he wouldn't accidentally hurt her.

Their emotions mingled, and she could sense his frustration at her questioning him. She realized how he wanted her to understand what she meant to him, what their union meant. She understood that her feeling of inadequacy confused and weighed on him. Her constant questioning of them, made him question himself and his abilities

She didn't want him to fret about her. He had enough to contend with. He had a war with the Decepticons, strained negotiations with the government, trying to navigate the minefield of human public relations, the media and the interpersonal relationships of his own mechs. He didn't need to add her to the list. If anything, she should be his respite from everything else, a place for him to relax.

He purred along their connection, love wrapped around her soul, offering comfort and reassurance. He wanted to prove his devotion to her, and how important she was to him. He needed her to allow him to be himself, to drop the mantle of Prime. She served as his refuge, the one he handed his spark to, the only person to whom he could show all the different sides of his being. Their union surpassed the physical and delved into the realm of spiritual. Raising her head she looked at her bondmate, realization unfolding in her mind.

_::_You finally understand:: whispered across her internal audios as a surge of relief filled her.

She finally and completely understood. So many things went unsaid between them and many more would remain unspoken, but that did not matter. She had always thought she knew what it meant to love, but she only had an organic's perspective; views clouded by the knowledge that love could fail, that no matter how strong, it could decay and rot into a fetid mess. She had believed love existed as a continually mutable condition that succumbed to the whims of those involved, requiring one to make sacrifices to appease the other.

But organics got it so horribly wrong.

Understanding rocketed through her mind; old, flawed concepts fell away, replaced with new ones. Staring deep into the azure optics before her, she didn't know if he had planted the ideas, and at the moment, she didn't care. To the Cybertronians love and bonding represented the apex of existence, a Zen-like state few could achieve. They gave their devotion freely, without limitation or stipulation, an actual blending of spirits without the needs of the flesh or ego to ensnare or corrupt. Oh, they understood physical pleasure, but it served as a game to them, something to entertain the lover, not as the pinnacle of the relationship, like with organic sex.

So many things fell into place in that instant. Images Optimus had shown her, whispered phrases that sounded awkward or out of place, now, made perfect sense. She had been hiding behind the flimsy walls of her mind, paper-thin shields that she built in an attempt to protect her heart. By hiding, she could not see what he offered and patiently waited for her to accept.

"I am so stupid," she admitted.

A smile ghosted across his lips and he shook his head. His hand cupped her aft and shifted her weight on his waist. "No, you are just learning."

Looping her other arm around his neck, she pulled herself closer to him, until they were almost nose-to-nose. Velocity verbally stumbled; she couldn't find any words to express how she felt that didn't sound overused and banal. She focused on a spot just beyond his shoulder, hoping to magically discover a phrase or comment that could concisely express herself. The air remained empty.

"You don't have to say anything," he told her with a curious expression on his face. His thumb trailed along her thigh, barely tickling the edge of her armor. Optimus shifted and pressed her firmly into the wall; tiles broke and crunched behind her. Raising his other hand, his fingers slid along her arm around the back of her hand to her wrist; wrapping them around the delicate appendage, he pulled until she relinquished her hold on him. He pressed her hand against the wall over her head and held it there. Velocity felt vulnerable, in this position. Unable to hold onto her mate for support, she had to trust him not to drop her. Part of her wanted to feel the security of the floor beneath her feet, but another part of her found the helplessness thrilling.

His optics burned fiercely, boring into her own with an intensity that surged over her circuits and along her wires. A rumble sounded within his chest and Optimus shifted, metal squealing as he moved against her, his engine a seductive purr. His other hand explored the seams in her armor. Fingers probed and stroked tactile sensors buried within her hip. Moving upward, he found enough of a gap to slip his fingers into, and tease her neuro-cable; brushing inner mechanics he made her want to squirm in delight.

Tightening her legs, she ground herself against him; metal scraping along metal; a Response to organic instincts that still coursed deep within her soul.

Prime's optics darkened to a dangerous hue; a color that exposed the powerful emotions that raged in his spark.

Velocity vented rapidly, trying to cool her systems. "You might want to put me down...I'll get you all dirty," she cajoled in an attempt to reign in her mate. The communal showers offered little in the way of privacy, and she wasn't sure if she wanted anyone to just walk in on them, or if she didn't want him to stop.

The hand left her thigh and reached over to turn the shower off, her optics followed his movements.

Silver fingers wrapped around the knob, totally engulfing and hiding it from view. Massive hands that could punch through concrete or delicately tease her into overload, with deliberate slowness the turned the dial, allowing the water to cascade between his fingers and trail down his arm. Small rivers sparkled as they rushed over the blue and red flames that decorated his armor in a futile attempt to extinguish those eternal fires. The cascade of liquid that surrounded them lessened and finally stopped, only a few errant drops pinged against their metal skin.

"It is much too late to worry about that," and his voice rumbled so deep that it vibrated through her armor and through her systems.

He rubbed his thumb over the access port in her wrist, sending small tingles along her arm. She glared defiantly into his optics, but he continued stroking and teasing the sensitive opening. She felt the tight warmth of his interface rod as he connected to her, and immediately sent a hot pulse over the line, making her optics flare of their own volition. She growled at him, he only responded by igniting every sensor in her body at once.

Velocity arched her back, the sensations bordering on torture. Nothing should feel that incredible and leave her wanting more. His hands worked at sensitive wires, gently caressing, and rolling them between his fingers. Delicious ecstasy came to her in waves, each one more intoxicating, exhilarating and erotic than the last. He assaulted her from inside and out. He would drag this out as long as possible, he always did. She stopped thinking and the room around her faded away as she tried not to drown in the pleasure. It took all of her will to stay online as the surges threatened to override her systems. Never before had their interfacing been this intense, this raw.

"Give yourself to me." The words rumbled in her audios. Her excruciating, mind-numbing pleasure looped back to him, and his vents thrummed loudly in their efforts to cool his systems. She couldn't seem to focus on his words; his hands were far too distracting.

"Give yourself to me," he ordered again. The words sounded garbled to her, an unimportant noise in the background.

A hand slid along her chest. She looked down to watch familiar fingers greedily scrape along the seam that divided the front of her armor. He gently pulled and tugged at her, demanding access to what lay hidden beneath the protective red plates. She allowed her chest plates to slide open and back, exposing the spark chamber that contained her soul. His did the same, and as they unlocked the seals, tendrils of raw energy reached out greedily, attempting to connect with the other. A brilliant light flared between them, a beacon created from their life-forces.

She shuttered her optics from the intense glow and felt him slip into her and surround her at the same time. His essence consumed hers, she couldn't tell where she ended and he began, and she didn't care. Velocity gave in, completely and wholly, her body relaxed, the tension leached out of her and she allowed Optimus to support her. She stopped hiding and running from him, offering no resistance as he rolled through her mind and soul; desperate to blow apart her final defenses that separated them. Within her mind, she felt him move past the memories and confronted the dark places she kept hidden. Before, her lover had always been so cautious to never go near the patches of pain, hate and depression that she buried beneath everything else. Not this time. This time he went straight for the shadowy fires that burned at her core, digging up brutal memories and forcing her to relive her hurt filled past.

It was obvious that he wanted to know all of her, to finally penetrate those places she had concealed from him, from everyone. She panicked; those places hid monsters, demons she never vanquished, only caged. Her fright reached within, awakening the animal that made the other half of her soul.

Hard muscle and warm fur stalked through her mind; prowling and searching for the source of her fear and pain. A great hunting cat, the remains of what she had once been, moved like smoke along the energy of her soul. She felt Optimus pause and regard the animal. For a moment, somewhere between conscious thought and eternity she sensed his doubt, a trickle of uncertainty that fluttered like tall grass in the wind, there and then gone. She growled her warning to him, wanting him to leave, and leave her.

He didn't. Without warning his essence surged, engulfing her as if she were no more of a threat than a new born kitten. He ignored the hissing and snarling, pushing into the beast, emotion flared within her, primal emotions as pure as the night sky, uncomplicated by human concepts such as greed or jealousy. He released her carefully controlled desires to hunt and rend flesh, that predatory need to fill her mouth with the warm meat and hot blood of another. Instincts buried so far that she forgot they were there at times. It shocked her to find them still pulsing and alive within the mechanical construct that made her new body.

He delved into her, continued his relentless assault of taking and sampling as he saw fit, grabbing what lay within the shadows of her soul. He left her feeling as if he had hollowed out her consciousness, jumbled it around and then put back together. He invaded memories she just wanted to forget, the abyss of her soul where she shoved the parts of herself that could never see the light of day.

Clicks reverberated through her, Optimus attempting to calm her fear. It didn't really work. If he hadn't pinned her so securely against the wall she would have run. A small part of her hated him for exposing her, for laying her soul open and examining it, but she could feel his triumph, his exaltation at finally having what he wanted. His love radiated through her innermost being, soothing her down to her core.

Velocity expected him to cast her aside, disgusted with what she hid from him, but he didn't. With a whiplash effect, he shoved her into his consciousness, and pushed her towards the darkness within his spark.

_**XxxX **_

He stood in rapt attention, silent witness to the scene before him, an act as ancient as the first Cybertronians, the true meaning of what it meant to be a child of Primus.

He relished the way the femme's legs wrapped around the Prime's torso as his commander pinned her to the wall with his frame. He could see her legs tighten, squeezing and holding onto her bonded. The slim arm looped around the Prime's neck moved, catching the stark light from over head as she trailed her hand along the back of the mech's helm to fondle one his audio finials. Optimus shifted his stance, causing the femme at his mercy to whimper. The glow of their sharing lit up the slick tiles in pulsating blues and flickering oranges. It had been many vorns since he had stumbled upon a couple in the act of sharing and it hadn't been anything like this. His spark strained against its housing, wanting to feel the warmth; make the connection to another being. Sharing was the greatest gift they possessed.

The exquisite moans of the Prime's new mate flooded his memory banks with images of a different femme, a pale green beauty. The first time he had met her she challenged him to see who could consume the most high grade and remain functioning. He had won, but just barely. Waking up in an Iaconian alleyway with some strange femme's name carved on his leg had definitely made an impression on him.

His spark ached with need; a lonely hunger that hadn't abated since Chromia left him. He had accepted it then, as he accepted it now that he and Chromia were nothing more than victims of a war that had claimed millions. Meager sacrifices for the greater good.

Stalling, he wanted to watch the pair as they delved into each other... joining... bonding... sharing... becoming one. Opening their very essence for the other to explore and experience.

Stalling a few more minutes, Ironhide smiled wistfully, before turning and quietly. making his way out of the cleaning facilities. He opened old memory files and called up a time when a young bot and his femme partner had moved in the public domiciles a couple of doors down from him and Chromia. He remembered Chromia befriending the shy pair when the rest of the tenants whispered hateful comments behind their backs. He would like to know how many of those mechs regretted referring to Elita as a hub or a doll after her mate ascended to the station of Prime. Old prejudices died long, slow deaths.

Crossing his arms over his massive chest, the weapons specialist planted his feet and blocked anyone thinking of going into the showers.

He would make sure Optimus had all the time he'd need.

_**XxxX.**_

Her gentle, attentive lover turned demanding and forceful. He whispered into her audios that he wanted her to know what sharing truly entailed, that every part of the self was to be given. He expressed his frustration at not knowing everything about her and felt cheated by not being allowed to. He dragged her to the black depths of his despair then to the dizzying heights of his joy. An emotional roller-coaster ride for the both of them, and he mixed it with the exhilaration of their physical connection.

Optimus showed her his memories of the first time he had taken a life in battle, the intoxicating rush of besting an opponent, that he held god-like power over another and the disgusting shame of those feelings. He relived the days after the wholesale slaughter of the femmes and his reluctance to call off his troops that turned vigilante in their anger. For four orns he had turned a blind optic to their violence before demanding that they stand down, He didn't know how many mechs had been terminated in that time frame. He showed her his weaknesses and shortcomings; he exposed his carefully controlled rage. He shared with her memories of Elita, and the time they had shared together. Velocity thought her soul would break experiencing the bittersweet love Optimus had felt...still felt for his dead sparkmate. He showed her the horror he held in his spark, the fear that he had failed his people, dooming them all to extinction.

In the end before their systems overloaded form the strain of the connection, he showed her hope. The Hope that someday, eventually his life would be peaceful once again, and he wanted her to be with him if such a miracle ever happened.

Their chest plates closed, shuttering the bright light of their spark and soul. A tremor shook her body, as the remnants of her mate's overload crackled along her circuits. She leaned back against the tiles in an effort to keep away from Optimus' encompassing heat. Her fans hummed at an alarming rate, trying to cool her systems down. Her pump wouldn't slow, her gears strained in their housing, and her hypercoils had absolutely no tension in them. Her processor still ran with all the emotions that had passed between them. Her thoughts were jumbled, and she truly believed that his arms around her body were the only things holding her together.

Optimus moved, a graceful spin ending with his back against to the wall and Velocity clinging to him. Sliding his down the tiles, he sat, cradling her.

The sudden movement played havoc with Velocity's equilibrium and vertigo washed over her. "What did you do to me?" she mumbled, and to her audios her voice sounded shaky and even a little weak.

"I merely shared with you, the way Cybertronians are meant to share." his voice thrummed with lazy contentment. Tightening his hold on her he moved, a graceful so that his back He shifted. Spinning gracefully, he put his back to the tiles and with her still in his arms.

"I hurt... all over...especially on the inside." Velocity didn't raise her head as she sat in his lap, with her legs dangling off to the side and her head on his chest. The solid thumps of his strong pump filled her audios, soothing her, lulling her into a sleepy trance with its steady beat. She liked it there and had no intentions of moving...ever again.

"The pain will lessen over time." Mild apprehension brushed along their bond. "I have been wanting to do this for a while, but I didn't know how broach the subject. I am tired of not having my bonded as my bonded. I need to know all of you and want you to know all of me. Before, I had been holding back, afraid that you would reject this."

She tilted her head to look at him, an argument forming in her mind, but he placed a single finger on her lips to hush her.

His optics dimmed, but still held an intensity that she couldn't quite define. "I know you, you would have run at the very least, or fought me at the very worst." His hand stroked her cheek. "Many Cybertronians cannot open themselves to another in such a manner, for it requires complete and absolute trust." Optimus looked around, searching, but not finding what he sought; he focused on her once more. "There is so much I could show you, if you will let me."

Velocity nodded, she did trust him. Her vocals caught, creating an undignified squeak. She cycled her vents in frustration, trying again to speak. "You could have told me. If there is something about our relationship that needs to be discussed..."

Optimus cocked his head to the side and an odd smile tugged at his lips as he met her optics. "Bond mates that share on the deepest level have no need to 'discuss' their relationship, everything is known."

Realizing his softly spoken words held a gentle rebuke, she looked away sheepishly.

He cupped her cheek, and pressed her head back to his chest. He curled his arms around her, and moaned with succulent contentment.

She relaxed, and shuttered her optics, snuggling deeper into his embrace, hiding, if just for a moment, in his secure hold.

"Oh, for the Sake of Primus. Don't tell me that a bit o'facing reduces both of you to useless slag heaps?" Ironhide groused.

Startled, Velocity jerked, curling her legs under her, she tried to stand, but Optimus tightened his arms around her, holding her in his lap. She couldn't relax, so she settled on glaring over her shoulder at the black mech. He returned her volatile stare with a smug look of his own.

"And how long have you been here?" Prime asked his bodyguard pointedly, raising one brow arch questioningly. The two mechs stared at each other, Prime eying at his bodyguard suspiciously.

The old warrior smiled knowingly. "Oh, just walked in. I wanted to wash the road dust off."

::Prowl to Optimus Prime:: blared over the secured communications frequency the inner circle used. Velocity felt Optimus jerk, as if startled by the sudden intrusion, while her own pump galloped furiously. Even the stoic Ironhide twitched when the SIC's voice shattered the calm.

::Optimus here:: Prime responded with a weary sigh.

::I have something I think you should see...assuming that you are back on duty, sir::

Velocity whipped around as best she could to look at her mate. "What the fuck did he mean by that?"

_XxxX_

Velocity followed Ironhide down the hall.

Optimus walked behind her, steadying her whenever she stumbled. Moving did little to help shake off the residual effects of her and Optimus's foray into the showers. Walking proved to be difficult, her legs shook with effort and the world seemed slightly off-center. She just wanted to rest. Optimus offered to carry her, but pride and Ironhide's knowing smirk wouldn't let her accept his offer. Her processor continued to over-flow with data while small electrical surges flared randomly inside her frame.

They made their way to the rec room where Prowl and Ratchet waited for them. The two mechs gestured emphatically, their heads close together and not even looking up when Ironhide or Velocity walked in. Their voices carried, but not their words. Then Prime walked in. The SIC immediately snapped his attention towards his commanding officer.

"I am sorry for the interruption, but I thought that you should be made aware of this post haste." The black and white mech stood at stiff attention, his optics on locked on Prime.

She quickly glanced around the room; just the five of them looking at each other, surrounded by the chaos of video games, dartboards, miscellaneous magazines, random pieces of furniture and the assortment of items meant to keep both humans and mechs entertained. The big-screen TV buzzed to life at the back of the room, startling her.

Prowl balanced a human sized remote in his fingers, while his other had partially transformed, allowing him to use one of his tools to push the tiny buttons. "Hound activated TiVo as soon as he saw this. I apologize, but the first few minutes were not recorded."

Optimus nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest, his face an emotionless mask. His questions whispered through her mind, "How much damage?", "How many lives ended?" Moving beside him, she stood close enough that their energy fields mingled freely. A silver hand pulled her closer until her back pressed against his front. None of the others gave any hint they noticed their closeness.

A newswoman appeared on the screen. Velocity couldn't remember her name, but she had seen her many times over. The woman's cold eyes conflicted with her relaxed, friendly smile as she turned her head. The camera widened its view to include a dark haired person they all immediately recognized.

"That is some pretty amazing footage," the host commented with theatrical enthusiasm, her eyes open a little to wide, and her smile slightly forced. "You say that you actually spent some time with the Autobots?"

Catherine Cutter stared into the camera; her smile resembled the Cheshire cat's grin. "That's correct. They allowed me stay with them in their base for almost a week total. I've been fortunate enough to have firsthand experience being around the Cybertronians, and they are not at all the warmongering machines that some in the media tries to portray them as." She turned to talk to the blonde sitting beside her. "They are similar to us in many ways."

The news anchor reached out to touch her guest's arm in friendship and sympathy. "You must have an amazing story to share with the world." Hazel eyes turned back to camera as though to meet the viewer's eyes. "Tonight on CNN, a one hour special, featuring an unprecedented and candid look at the Autobots by field reporter Catharine Cutter. The show airs at seven pm Easter, check your local listings."

The TV clicked off and Prowl bent over to sit the remote onto a nearby coffee table. "Fortunately, the battery in the camera that she thought she had hidden would have functioned for only a couple of cycles before it required charging.

Ratchet grunted, his optics troubled. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, but which cycles did she record?"

Velocity checked her chronometer, they would find out in four hours.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N:** Thank you **Okami-chan** for allowing me to use your terms "hub" and "doll". And yeah, Ironhide is a dirty old mech. And for helping with the smexing, your skills far surpass mine in that department.

After giving the concept of bonding a considerable amount of thought, this author has decided that it cannot be all rainbows and moonbeams all of the time. Everyone has nasties living within the heart, mind and soul, and letting someone experience that would have to be harrowing to say the least.

**To Heaven's Archer** – Here you go. XD. **To N.C. FIREFIGHTER-CHICK** - *blushes* Thank you. Here is the next chapter, I Hope it doesn't take as long for 28. **To** **Moosagi** – I don't know what to say…Um…thank you so much. Truly your words have embarrassed me. I have the rest of the fic outlined and I intend to finish. **To** **Neko-Yami911** – Thank you. LOL. The female is always the more dangerous member of any species. Sadly, my co-author couldn't continue due to RL stuff, but I will pass your words on. *bows in gratitude* **To Rin** - Teehee. Here is your update. **To Tiamat1972** – Thank you. Yes, Op is approachable…to his friends. Not all of the mechs are so casual with him. Prowl knows when to keep his vocals muted ;) Sideswipe SIC?…crack fic! Rofl **To skyedragon** – Thank you. Oh I would have welded both of them to the side of the ship. **To April Raven Girl** – Thank you. I understand the aversion to OCs. (I don't like them either. Ironic, isn't it?) I have tried to make OP/V as real as possible. They are both flawed and have a less than perfect relationship. *shrugs* No one wants to read it if everything is always perfect. **To Taluiaka** – And here is another update. Woot. Mirage has his reasons, and they will become known later. And don't go to the zoo in 102 degree heat and forget to drink lots of water with a hangover. Dehydration sucks. ;) **To** **Carmilla Dewinter **– nope I refuse to kick my readers. I did say that and Jack went straight to the ship when he got back. What I didn't do was clarify things very well. *hands out a rolled up newspaper* You may whap the bad author. **To Ladyofthebookworms** – Velocity is a snit isn't she? XD. Mirage is one to keep an eye on…if you can see him**. To illmatar **– you are getting a PM to your comments. Too much to write right here. XD **To Everyone** that has placed this and any of my other stories on favorite and alert lists, thank you so much.


	28. Choosing Words

_**Rating: **_M for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, smex, torture.

_**Disclaimer: **_The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is a 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

_**Beta Read by**_**: Okami-chan **and** Okami-myrrhibis. **Thank you so much for your time and effort…Oh, you were correct, Ironhide took major offense to his "tin cannons". XD

_**XxxX **_

_**Choosing Words**_

_**XxxX**_

The small lamp overhead and the flicker of the TV served as the only sources of light in the room. Gears whined softly when the femme shifted, sometimes her metal body made lounging difficult. Reclining in her berth, and her knees pulled up, Velocity rested a human sized book in her hand. With practiced ease, she turned a page then glanced at the plasma TV that hung on the far wall of the room. The image of a man with steel colored hair and an anvil shaped face glowed back at her; his sharply tailored suite contrasted his expressive and jovial face.

"I guess you have all heard by now that the government has been accused of detaining and torturing several of the alien robots…the Cybertronians." The host's features showed comedic shock and horror while the unseen audience waited, strained chuckles rolled softly out of the sound system. He turned to address the dark-skinned man that sat off to the side of the stage. "Exactly, how do you torture a twenty foot tall robot? Water-boarding would just short them out." The audience roared in laughter while the man threw his hands in the air and convulsed in an over exaggerated faux electrocution.

"We aren't hair dryers," Velocity grumbled to herself. She turned her attention back to the novel, trying to ignore the heat of anger that fluttered in the back of her thoughts. Finding out if Serephina Nightsong and the pirate Captain holding her hostage would get around to having fantastically, perfect sex seemed a safer harbor for her attentions than the crude jokes on the TV show.

In the two days since Catherine Cutter's shocking and informative expose` on the Autobots, more and more people rallied in support of the mechanoids. Experts in obscure fields came out the thickets to analyze and theorize whether those actions of the government were justifiable or another example of a paranoid administration overstepping its bounds. It sounded to her like a bunch of people throwing around twenty dollar words in an attempt to cover up the fact that they didn't really have anything important or useful to say.

During one heated debate on CNN, a tweed jacketed Professor of something-or other, pushed his glasses back into place with a knobby finger and suggested that the Cybertronians could still be prisoners of the government and forced to suffer at the hands of the military. The Autobots and humans watching that program in the rec room started shouting at the absurdity of the comment. The situation hit extreme decibels until the ominous hum of Ironhide's twin cannons quieted things down. The black mech then announced, "There is no feasible way a bunch of under-evolved meat-bags could keep me prisoner." The weapons specialist then asked Lennox if he wanted to go for a ride and pick up supplies for Annabelle's upcoming birthday party. The irony of the mech's words still made her chuckle.

Overnight, the Autobots had become Hollywood's newest bandwagon. Outspoken entertainers and media moguls demanded that the government treat the Cybertronians with respect, equality and dignity. A, B and C-listers banded together, attacking the airwaves, knowing that their over-inflated egos made them important enough that by just voicing their opinions things would change for the better.

The membership for The Friends of Cybertron had expanded considerably, and a new set of fans loitered along the primary entrance to the base. Camera lenses and video cameras swung in unison like cycloptic stygian vultures following the path of any vehicle that dared brave the gauntlet of flash bulbs and clicking shutters. Legions of the mech-hungry crowded the desert and occasionally attempted to hike over the barren terrain to sneak onto the base, all for chance to see the elusive Autobots. It all became very tiresome, very quickly. She hadn't been outside in two days and had no intentions of going out for a while.

The Pro-human groups sent their representatives to New York to appear on the national TV and defend their views. They were promptly ripped apart and labeled as hate-mongers and bigots, accused of having small minds and callused hearts. For now, the fickle pendulum of public sentiment swung in favor of the Autobots.

Interestingly, no one had asked the leader of the Cybertronians his opinion or views on the matter, probably because no one within the media could reach him save one, and he refused Ms. Cutter's calls. Velocity knew her mate's feelings on the situation, and they were as deep and complicated as the mech himself. Disgust and regret over what Bumblebee, Cosmos and Megatron had to endure warred with the understanding that humans acted out of fear; primitive responses from a primitive race faced with a potential threat. She understood that Optimus did not agree with many of the laws the Government had, nor did he trust many of the individual members, but he willingly worked with them to protect the Earth and its people; he believed that only through the combined efforts of humans and Cybertronians could they defeat the Decepticons. He loathed war, yet was seen as a great warrior among his own, and held the service men and women in his care in high regard. The Autobot leader had many contradictory beliefs that wouldn't fall into the all black or all white rationale of the modern news media or that of a public too lazy to think for itself. Even if anyone had asked him, he would most likely remain quiet or limit his statement to a few short and concise sentences. Optimus preferred that he and his Autobots remain out of the media's spotlight as much as possible, and he only made appearances when necessary.

The echoes drifted towards her from down the hall; distracting footfalls that pulled Velocity out of her thoughts.

By now, the man on the TV show sat behind an expansive desk, holding little placards that held evidence to the slow demise of the English language. Sadly, she admitted to herself that a few of them were pretty funny.

Optimus entered their room, his massive from filling the doorway as he gave the TV a weary glance. "Anything I should know about?" he asked in Iaconian.

The red femme paused while she translated his words, her brow furrowed in concentration. At length she answered, "Just some stupid jokes, none of which you would want to hear." She marked her place in her book and laid it aside before letting her full attention rest on her mate.

Prime nodded.

Velocity watched as he walked across the room. He seemed stiff and tense, and his movements held none of the conservative grace that defined his gestures. Frustration hung around him like a grey cloud. His day spent in tele-conferences with the new Secretary of Defense had apparently worn on him.

Sitting a data pad on the small table, Prime glanced at her from over his shoulder. "Please try that in common Iaconian."

"I would if I knew the word for 'joke'," she pointed out while scooting over to give him room to join her. She patted the bunk and winked at him. The mech, raised a brow arch and looked at her, his expression indescribable, but she felt reluctant humor tickle their shared bond.

Covering the short distance between them in a handful of steps, Optimus lowered himself onto their berth, plucking up the paperback she had been reading and giving it a casual glance. Large silver fingers carefully held the novel so that she could see the front cover. "This isn't your usual reading material," his inquiry held a trace of humor.

The picture on the front cover showed a buxom blonde about to pop out of her bodice, standing on the deck of a wooden ship, the salt spray and wind messing her hair. Behind her stood a dashing pirate in knee high boots, impossibly tight pants, with his shirt billowing open and nary a chest hair in sight. Velocity shrugged and gave her mate a guilty smirk. "My Amazon order hasn't arrived, and I found the book in the commissary."

The mech tossed the book over his shoulder. She heard it hit the floor and slid to a stop, somewhere. She sat up straighter, shifting her weight on one hand as she attempted to look around her mate and locate the little paperback. "Hey!"

Optimus leaned over her, blocking her view. His presence pressed against her, pushing her back to a reclining position. He rested a hand on either side of her hips; a wicked glow lit his optics. "Captain Nicholas dies at the hands of Admiral Nightsong, Serephina's father. In a fit of anger and grief she takes over her dead lover's schooner and declares war on the British Navy before sailing off into the sunset, leaving the ending open for a sequel," the deep timbre of his voice thrummed against her frame. "Now that you know how the book ends, you have nothing to do tonight," he whispered, his cheek brushing against her audios.

Shifting away, so she could better look at him, Velocity blurted out, "You've read that piece of crap?"

Optimus narrowed his optic shutters and growled. Snatching her up, he rolled sideways off the berth, sending them both crashing to the floor.

She squeaked in surprise then found herself safely on top of him, straddling his waist. His hands ran along her sides, finding the seams in her armor that allowed him access to her delicate internal mechanisms. His skilled fingers found the spot only he knew about. She squealed and wiggled, trying to get away from him as he mercilessly tickled her. In the back of her mind, she forgave him, understanding his need to forget the stresses of the day.

_**XxxX**_

Raising her hand to knock, she hesitated. Listening, she didn't hear the normal clamor of bangs, whirs and melodic chirps that normally came from Wheeljack's workshop. The stoic silence unnerved her to the point that she welcomed the sound of a small explosion. If nothing else, the curls of black, acrid smoke would elude to of signs of life within the messy vault.

The heavy blast doors remained tightly closed, only Optimus and Ratchet had seen more than a glimpse of the gregarious, white mech since his return from California. She had caught a fleeting image of pearlescent armor a couple of times, but hadn't had the time to hunt him down to check on him. Now, she had the time.

Cycling her vents deeply, Velocity gathered her courage and rapped her knuckles against the heavy steel, wincing as the sound echoed down the empty hallway.

Nothing.

She gave him a few minutes. Perhaps the mech had left, a highly unlikely scenario, but a possibility. She had checked with Prowl on the location of the engineer, and he had directed her here. Prowl almost always knew where everybody on base was and what they were doing.

The sealed doors didn't concern her much, as 'Jack kept his shop tightly locked to prevent nosy mechs from tampering with things they shouldn't, or to keep out unwanted intruders while he worked. He might be performing a delicate or dangerous procedure and needed to finish before he acknowledged her.

She waited, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot to the beat of a song she heard Bumblebee playing the day before.

After a breem, she raised her hand to knock again. She reached out to rap her knuckles against the hard surface when she heard the tumblers within the massive locks disengage; the deep clanks of metal shifting against metal, and the final click as the lock retracted vibrated through the door. Dropping her hand to her side, she took a step back as one of the doors slid on its tracks. A sliver of darkness opened before her.

The engineer's white and silver face floated within that black stripe, optics narrowed. Suppressing a case of the shivers, she couldn't help but think of an old horror movie, where some murderous psychotic had his face pressed against a gap in a woodened door. He taunted his soon to be victims by saying, "Its Jack," in the creepy voice she had ever heard. Fortunately, this 'Jack did nothing quite so melodramatic. He only looked her up and down before offering a muffled, "Come in".

Stepping forward, she realized she would have to turn sideways to squeeze between the steel plates. Doing so, she slid into the opening, her aft scraped against the sharp metal edge of the door. She hissed in annoyance, certain she'd lost a layer of paint. Had she been any larger she couldn't have wriggled through the gap to enter the dimly lit workshop.

Adjusting her optics to the thick shadows, Velocity startled as saw Wheeljack. His white armor shone with a spectral quality in the dark room, adding another layer to the surreal wrongness of the situation. The energetic, engaging mech with joyful optics had vanished, replaced by a hunched-shouldered, somber being she had never met. His head dropped almost onto his chest while he shuffled towards the work table with sluggish movements. Defeat hung in the air around him.

"Hi, 'Jack." Her words sounded forced to her audios as they bounced throughout the cavernous room, disturbing the hostile silence.

Taking a few hesitant steps, she turned to follow the scientist as he walked back towards the center of the room. She paused to look around the cluttered workshop. The single lamp on 'Jack's worktable made a soft halo of light around the pale mech, casting the rest of the space into deep shadows. Darkness swallowed the heaps of junk and oddball items, but their shiny surfaces caught the feeble light and glittered like predator's eyes in the darkness. She didn't fear the creatures of the night, but the effect was unsettling all the same.

Quickly, she sought the security of her friend's presence, pulling out a stool across from him. The table between them held an assortment of tools and components she didn't recognize nor understand their function. Cylindrical canisters lay lined in a neat row, small chunks of scrap metal wedged against them to keep them from rolling around. Picking one of them up, the engineer raised a tube to his optic and peered down the length of it.

"How did things go in California?" The femme asked in a whisper.

Wheeljack didn't look at her. His concentration remained so focused on the tube in his hand, she wondered if he heard her. When he did finally speak his voice held absolute bitterness. "We didn't find anything."

Velocity wanted to do anything to help her friend that sat across the table, wallowing in pitiful grief. Part of her wanted to find Ratchet and slap him around demanding to know why he wasn't here comforting his bonded. But the medic would know how his mate felt and she thought back to all the times either she or Optimus just needed some time alone, and understood.

She reached out a hand out to touch him, a small gesture of comfort. When her fingers grazed his forearm, he vented in a deep sigh. Blue optics flicked towards her then darted away again. "I can leave if you want me to," she said in a gentle voice.

Wheeljack shook his head to the negative. "Sam… obtained access to Antony's domicile. He found half packed suitcases on the berth and the airline tickets." Turning his attention back to the object in his hand, as he fiddled with it some more, poking a finger inside, feeling around.

She tucked her hands primly in her lap, not daring to touch anything else. "I thought you said that you didn't find anything." She didn't want to goad him, but she had learned that sometimes the scientist had to be forced to clarify his statements; logical, concise communication rarely occurred with 'Jack.

The normally warm light that came from his optics had turned cold…harsh. Their pale blue deepened to a violet while the air around him crackled with anger. "We could not locate Tony's cell phone, his base passes, laptop or 'Bot bag."

A missing base pass could pose a problem. The small laminated cards offered another level of security, and identified individuals. They stated pertinent information about their name, rank, function, etc. They also contained a microchip that the Autobots could "read" at a distance. The data was in encrypted Cybertronians, making the passes impossible to forge. Most personnel wore them around their necks on a long bolo and no one wanted to be caught without one. Unknown humans did not receive the warmest of welcomes.

"What's a 'Bot bag'?" she asked.

'Jack took an odd looking tool and jammed it down the cylinder with an unusual ferocity. "That is the term Anthony gave the duffle bag he carried his necessary items in when he stayed here. It appears that he believed that he was coming to the base." The clipped, hostile tone in the mech's voice sent chills along Velocity's neural-wires.

"Ha!" Wheeljack's sharp laugh startled the femme.

Across the table, the scientist extracted a small spider-like device from within the tube. He turned vengeful optics towards her. "I got it," he stated triumphantly. "Normally, I carry a few EMP grenades for my rocket launcher. When one hits a 'Con, it sends a pulse that disables the bastard for a few kliks, making capture possible. What I'm trying to do is exponentially increase the electrical discharge and fry the fucking fraggers on the spot."

_**XxxX**_

Velocity grouped people into three clear categories, those she deeply cared about, those she deeply despised and everyone else. Mirage became her banner mech for the second group, and that would never change. She detested his arrogant expressions, his better-than-the-rest attitude, and she loathed his incessant fawning over Optimus. If Mirage sucked on her bonded's tailpipe any harder, Prime would turn inside out. She pointed this out to her mate, and he stared at her with a slightly slack-jawed, shocked expression.

She didn't doubt that Mirage felt the same way about her. The burning revulsion his optics held whenever he looked at her made the situation crystal clear. In less than a week, their smoldering animosity towards each other became evident to the rest of the Autobots. The last time she checked with the twins, bets were in favor of her landing Mirage in the med bay.

Thinking about that curled the corners of her lips into a cold, confident smile. For the first time, in either life, she felt the warmth of security, of belonging, of not being alone. Knowing of Prime's devotion to her made all the difference. Understanding the fierce depth of his love, and the fact that he freely chose her as his mate silenced the insecure whispers in her soul. It had changed her, more so than dying and waking up in a metal body. That was the easy part compared to giving every tiny little bit of herself to her mate.

For his part, Optimus allowed her to handle the situation with Mirage on her own. The Autobot commander didn't pry, he didn't push, he allowed her to inform him of what she wished, but Velocity knew that if things escalated her bonded would become involved.

Interestingly, Optimus had never asked her to trust Mirage, and what her mate didn't say spoke volumes to her. He had asked her to put her trust and faith in Ironhide and then Prowl. He encouraged her to form relationships with Hound, Smokescreen, and Cliffjumper. He nodded his approval when he found her horribly losing to Ratchet and Wheeljack in a game that resembled Five Card Stud, but with small metallic chips. No, Optimus never asked her to even attempt to be civil to the Mosler. She couldn't be civil to Mirage; their relationship had passed that point. Ignoring him was about the best she could do.

She listened to the footfalls echo in the hallway, the soft taps of her light steps accentuated by the heavier thuds of the mech stalking behind her. They produced a strange rhythm, something slightly discordant and out of balance, an unappealing staccato of metallic sound.

"Once again, you turned a simple assignment into a heaping mound of slag." The haughty voice cut through her thoughts.

She glanced over her shoulder and noticed that the mech kept a distance behind her. Perhaps she had made an impression on him.

"Hmm," she responded. She didn't have the time or the inclination to deal with Mirage at the moment. The fact that she had become distracted and allowed him to catch her alone annoyed her some, but she had more important things to contend with. Turning the corner, she entered an identical hallway, her stalker following.

In his absence, Optimus asked her to serve as a liaison with the government in their joint attempt to locate the missing Tony Melby. She had argued that Wheeljack would be a better choice, but both Prime and Prowl felt that his deep distraught over his friend's disappearance made him a less than adequate candidate. All it took for her to give in was a simple please and the pleading look in her mate's optics.

Velocity knew that they were spinning their wheels, literally and figuratively. She read all of the reports, making sure that she knew every scrap of information associated with the case, and that she was up to speed. Sadly, there was almost nothing to go on, and it seemed that the only way they could find him would be to just stumble over him. The physicist had simply disappeared. Within her soul she felt that their best efforts were futile, but she kept trying because Optimus asked her to. The melancholy emotions that slugged along their bond every time the man's name was mention told her that even Prime had given up hope.

"You wrote your entire report in English," the mech pointed out the obvious.

She waved a hand dismissively in his general direction, but refused to look at him. "Whatever." She turned the final corner to the corridor that held the secondary entrance to the underground tunnels. A narrow ramp designed to give the military personnel easier access to the base hugged the wall before her. Smartly dressed humans walked up and down the incline in their daily duties, most barely acknowledging the Autobots.

"Whatever?" The word came as an angry hiss from Mirage's vocal emitters.

Velocity rolled her optics even though she knew he couldn't see her face. Shifting her weight to one foot, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited, her contact would arrive soon and she could happily tell Mirage to "go fuck off". She felt a smile tug at her lips just thinking about it.

"I am talking to you."

_Gods, what a whiny brat_, she thought to herself while not giving him any inclination that she heard him.

A metal hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around, the blue and silver, sphinx-like face mere inches from her own. Anger flared inside her, and the urge to dismantle the arrogant mech almost overwhelmed her. Twisting her body, she yanked her shoulder out of his grasp. Out of her peripheral vision she noticed the humans stopping to watch. She wanted to end this here and now, but for safety she couldn't. Swallowing her pride, she backed away from the mech. The smug smile on his face, told her that he read her actions as a sign of fear…weakness.

She confronted her antagonist, metal lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Her shutters narrowed over dark green optics. "Do NOT touch me! Ever!" she snapped, jabbing the empty air between them with a finger to accentuate every word. "And another thing, neither Prowl nor Optimus care what language I use, so shut…the fuck…up."

The Autobot held his ground, crossing his arms over his chest. "The human language is… less than adequate for the needs of the Autobot High Command and I would suggest that change to a more efficient format in the future." He leaned towards her, blue optics twinkling in malicious delight. "I've heard how dolls like you get their way. How many interfaces _can_ you handle in an orn?"

The red haze of rage crept into Velocity's vision then a calm emptiness pushed away the distracting emotions. She took note of the mech's frame; he stood taller than her, but had an almost gangly thinness, and the way he kept looking around as if bored gave her more than enough opportunity to strike. The cold predator inside of her weighted the chances and liked them. Her claws sprang out of their sheathing on her hands and feet, but she didn't move. Mirage's attention snapped to her, an alertness she had never seen before lit his optics. He widened his stance, turning slightly. She had watched him spar once and knew that he had positioned himself to use his blade. The air between them crackled with an electric charge.

"You know nothing about the truth." she growled.

"Oh, Are we having a bit of a tiff?" a cocksure voice asked.

"Stay out of this Reggie," Velocity snapped without taking her optics off Mirage. The cold desire to vanquish her opponent coursed through her mind, but she wouldn't be the one to throw the first punch. She silently dared the Autobot. _Come on you asshole, I know you want to, I can see it in your optics._

Mirage moved, and it took every bit of will power for her to remain where she stood. A small tremor went through her body as the mech in front of her bowed, looking past her to the man behind her.

"Special Agent Simmons, I would like to welcome you. Is there anything you will be requiring for your stay with us?" Mirage asked with all of the propriety of a stuffy lord.

She wanted to retch, if Simmons was stuck in a burning building... well, 'Bee would be more likely to try and save the man.

"Don't you have somewhere else to go?" she asked the mech through clinched dental plates. "Like the bottom of a foundry pot?"

Mirage straightened abruptly, openly sneering at her. "With the command staff absent, someone has to keep the lower ranks in line." The way he said "lower" made her grind her dental plates together even more. Technically, she didn't have a rank, but being one of the Prime's inner circle placed her well above his slagging aft.

Simmons strolled between them, his hands in his pockets jingling a set of keys. He looked like he was enjoying the show. "So, who _is_ in temporary command here, you or Ironhide?" Simmons queried with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Velocity wanted to hug the wily human. His question wiped away every trace of arrogance from Mirage's face. Apparently, challenging 'Hide's authority wasn't something that the mech cared to do.

Abruptly, the Autobot turned on his heel and stalked away.

She blinked a couple of times, trying to contain the desire to leap upon his back and rip his energon lines out. Looking down at the human near her feet she tried to smile, but the expression on her face felt more like a snarl. She smoothed that away and settled for forcing her features into something safely neutral. "Thanks Reggie."

The agent met her optics, and never altered his expression. "I dislike that NBE more than you, and didn't want to get squished because of an alien pissing contest." The human looked her up and down. "What did he mean, 'how many interfaces can you handle in an orn'?"

Velocity placed her hands on her hips, searching the hallway around her. She sighed, "What do you think he meant?" She returned her gaze to the human.

Simmons pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side slightly. Anger burned in his brown eyes. "If you were a woman, I would say he called you a slut…I think."

She shifted her weight, and tried to roll her shoulders. Her hypercoils started relax, releasing their build up tension and aching in the process. "Yeah, he called me a slut."

"Are you?"

She would have smacked the man against the wall had his expression been so innocent. Not, innocent…perhaps openly curious. "No." She made sure that the word held absolute finality.

"Can giant robots be sluts?" Simmons's smirked at her while wiggling his eyebrows, but his eyes smoldered darkly.

Velocity cocked a brow ridge. "Do you _really_ want to know?"

Simmons seemed to be thinking, finally, he shook his head. "Nope." He turned and started strolling down the long hallway. "Are you coming?"

She snorted at the man's smarmy arrogance. Glancing around, she realized some of the base personnel were still lingering around, and that they had heard most of her conversation with Agent Simmons. Embarrassment fueled her flight and she quickly caught up to the man.

_**XxxX.**_

They sat, waiting… watching, a team of three hiding in plain sight, hoping for an opportunity to strike. The leader of the small hunting party knew that patience would eventually reward them with success. Only when the enemy was comfortable and relaxed would they make a mistake, which was one of the reasons none of the Decepticons had moved against them…yet.

_**XxxX**_

The hearty smell of spaghetti assaulted Velocity's olfactory receptors. The tang of stewed tomatoes and the earthy aromas of mushrooms, garlic and fresh herbs all mixed together with the warm, bread-like smell of fresh pasta. Glancing in the door, she could see hungry service men and women packed the commissary, munching away happily. Their voices fading in and out in conversation punctuated by laughter and the occasional clanks of utensils or glass wear. She whimpered, wanting to join them with a big bowlful of slippery noodles and steaming sauce.

She waved her hand dismissively at the scene before her. "It's too loud in here. I want to go somewhere else." That excuse sounded better than trying to explain why watching people eat depressed her.

"I thought you guys could hear a chigger fart." Agent Simmons looked at her with open disbelief, his briefcase in one hand and the other scratching the side of his head.

"We can. It's just that to filter out all of the noise I would have to adjust my audio receptors to the point that I couldn't hear you." She waited to see if the man would believe her lie. Well, it wasn't completely a lie, more of a twisted half truth.

Simmons frowned, and looked at her. He stayed silent for a three long seconds. "Fine, where do you want to go?"

She almost sighed with relief. Shrugging her shoulders, she offered, "The conference room?"

"Nope, my dogs are tired. I'm not walking all the way over there." His words held a note of finality.

"The rec room?" she suggested.

With a nod, the special agent led the way.

The rec room was occupied, and cold, blue optics expressed their annoyance at the intrusion. "We were here first," snarled Sunstreaker.

Velocity held her hands up with her palms out, letting the warrior know she didn't want an argument…or a fight.

His brother paused the video game and turned to face her, a leer spread across his features. "Hey, why don't you ditch the flesh-wad and stay with us? Whoever wins the game can have you as a prize."

She didn't even dignify Sideswipe's comment. "Let's go," she said to Simmons.

Turning smartly, she stomped out of the room, the sound of maniacal laughter floated after her.

For his part Simmons said nothing about the exchange, but she noticed that the human had a look of deep concentration on his face, as he walked with her down the hall.

The first juncture they came to she stepped in. A foot wide strip of red paint ran the length of both sides of the corridor, disappearing around the next corner. The swath of color was the only thing that set this hallway apart from all the other bland, off white passages. She had walked about the length of a football field when a voice echoed to her.

"You expect me to follow you to your quarters or whatever big robots call their room?" Simmons had stopped just inside the red lined walls, his hands on his hips and his feet firmly planted.

"Lord, no," she called back. "Do you know what my boyfriend would do if he caught us alone?" She smiled at the agent. "You're fine. This isn't 'Jack's workshop, and humans can come down here with an escort. Anyways, my quarters aren't around here."

She sat down close to the wall, out of the main path of traffic, and waited. What she had told Reggie was the truth. Humans were allowed into the areas designated for the Autobots' private rooms, but they better have a damn good reason for being there. The only people allowed free access to the red halls, and whose room was located around the corner were Sam and Mikaela. Capitan Lennox could also freely enter the area whenever he wanted. The separation sounded elitist, but it solved some very real safety issues, and allowed both of the species some breathing room away from each other.

Within a few minutes, Simmons picked up his briefcase and sauntered to where she sat. Apparently, he decided to trust her.

With her legs crossed and aft on the floor, Velocity realized that she sat just a little taller than Simmons stood. The fact that they could easily talk eye to optic made her a little uncomfortable.

Simmons squatted then laid his attaché case on the ground in front of him. Opening it up, he pulled out a nondescript file folder and handed it to her. She carefully laid it on the ground and leafed through the stack of copied police and government documents that the agent had brought. Opening the front cover, she picked up the first page, holding it between her finger and thumb she would read it over then lay it face down. She repeated this procedure with every page.

The special agent stood and walked to her side. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and pulled his cell phone from its holster on his belt. From the corner of her optic she could see him and he appeared to be texting someone. She didn't pry. She didn't want to know about his personal life anyways.

One of the pages, near the top, caught her attention. "Hey, what about this one?" she asked the ex-Sector Seven agent. "I don't see a follow up. Someone reported a possible sighting and no one went out to verify it." She handed the paper over to Simmons so he could see it. Cautious optimism seeped into her systems. She held the fragile hope in check, not wanting to feel the sting of disappointment.

With annoyed movements the man left his post against the wall and dropped to one knee. Sighing he shuffled through the stack of loose pages until he found what he was after. He didn't turn around or even stand as he shot his arm into the air to show it to her. "I told Horwitz not to get anything out of order….Dumbass."

Velocity didn't know any Horawitzes so she let that go. Tucking her hands in her lap, she leaned her body forward. Blinking a couple times she focused on the paper. It was the follow up. The man spotted by a Roanoke merchant turned out to be a tourist on vacation with his wife and five children. The fledgling flutter of excitement curled up and wilted inside her chest like a delicate flower in the heat. She covered her frustration with a joke.

She winced in mock pain. "Five kids? Holy shit; do they know what cable TV is?"

A bark of laughter erupted from Simmons and echoed in the hallway.

Since Melby's disappearance, his name had been moved to the top of almost every APB list in the country. They had every law enforcement agency chasing nonexistent leads and hyper-vague sighting of curly haired, young men.

Simmons went back to holding up the wall while she read some more. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Do you really think that there is a chance that the physicist is alive?"

The femme's body sagged. He shoulders drooped and her lips turned down at the corners. "Not really, but until his death has been confirmed, we shouldn't give up looking." She didn't want to put her suspicions into words.

"You don't think that he decided that dealing with alien robots and the pressures of getting his PhD were too much and he ran off to be a roadie with some grunge rock band?" The man slid down the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him then ran his palms along his thighs.

"I wish that was the case. Anything would be better than some of the alternatives…and Reggie, grunge is dead." She turned her head to look at the man beside her, and he gave her a cynical smirk.

Unlike most of the mechs and humans, she didn't mind working closely with Reginald Simmons. The man took a little getting used to, but underneath the snide comments and sarcastic disposition was a dedicated and loyal, albeit slightly offensive and high strung man. She held little doubt that he would do whatever it took to protect the human race, even if it meant betraying the Autobots, but he wouldn't hesitate to stand shoulder to shoulder with them in battle. She smiled to herself. He had the heart and valor of a lion and mind of a jackal, crammed into a Brooklynite's body. The fact that he had taken on the job of spear-heading the search for the missing Melby screamed louder than spoken words ever could. Also, they just "got" each other. Insults and jabs were traded until one of them fell into peals of laughter. Warm contentment spread through her system. This conglomeration of humans and Cybertronians had melded into a family, and like all families, they might argue among themselves, but let something bad happen and everyone banded together.

"Now what?" Simmons sighed.

"INTERPOL."

"Again?"

"Again," she said with a shrug. Backtracking was about their only option, and they had already pestered the organization twice that week. "Any luck with the FBI?"

"Nothing." Simmons sighed, and rested the back of his head against the wall while he stared at the ceiling. "They sent a couple of agents to interview his family, friends and associates. Family is sparse and they had not seen much of him in a couple of years, his associates thought he was a flake and he didn't appear to have any close friends, just your typical anti-social, misunderstood genius."

Velocity stole a glance at the man, dark circles rimed his eyes and his normally crisp appearance was rumbled and wrinkled. He looked like he had missed more than just a few hours of sleep. She silently chided herself for not noticing his exhaustion before.

Flipping through the stack of documents on the floor in front of her, she looked for anything that might have been missed the first thirty or forty times someone had shuffled through the papers. There wasn't anything there they could use. Neither Melby's credit card nor his cell phone had been used. For all intents and purposes, the man had fallen off the planet, and all things considered that might have been exactly what happened to him.

Velocity took the papers in her hands and carefully tapped them against the floor to line them all up again. Sitting them back in their folder, she started scanning over them again. Most likely a futile effort, but if she were the one missing she would want someone to do the same.

A comfortable silence fell in the hallway. She noticed that the man leaning his head against the wall had shut his eyes. His body relaxed while his breathing deepened. Velocity left Simmons to nap, and continue to read.

The soft rustle of fabric floated to the femme's audios pulling her attention away from the file. Raising her head she saw Mikaela shuffling towards her and the dozing agent.

"Hey," she said as a hushed greeting while turning back to the pages of loose paper.

Reggie opened his eyes and blinked a few times. With a stretch, he stood and straightened his suit.

"Have either of you seen Ratchet?" Mikaela's voice sounded strained.

"You could try the med bay." Velocity focused more on the documents than the two humans near her.

Turning the page she had been reading over she looked at Sam's wife, and the congenial smile slid right off her facial plates.

Perspiration covered the woman's skin in a glossy sheen. One hand curled into a fist as it supported her against the wall, while the other arm wrapped protectively around her swollen belly. Mikaela stooped over, and her face contorted into a hideous mask of pain and fear. Leaning her shoulder and face against the cool material that lined the walls of the Autobot base, the young woman's rattling hiss turned into a piteous whimper as it escaped her lips.

Simmons sprang into action first. Within two strides made it to the Mikaela's side, his arms wrapped around the woman, and gently lowering her to the floor. Mikaela's hands had curled into claws and entangled themselves in his jacket, trying to cling to anyone for support.

The red femme scrambled, on her hand and knees, the short distance to the humans. An errant foot kicked the file, tossing the papers in the air, they scattered like leaves on the lonesome wind.

She hovered over the two on the floor. Still on her knees she loomed above them, as Simmons cradled the woman in his arms. Velocity reached out to offer a comforting touch, but quickly pulled her hand back when the lighting reflected off its metallic surface. For just a moment she forgot that she was no longer made of warm, soft flesh. All she could do was coach from the sidelines. "Come on Mickey…breathe. Long, slow breaths," Velocity urged, while imitating the respirations of a human. "That 'a girl. Good job." Meaningless phrases, but they were something.

Meeting Reggie's eyes, she saw naked fear.

"It hurts," the expectant mother moaned, trying to bury her face in the agent's chest.

"RATCHET!" The word echoed down the stark corridors and over the Cybertronians' internal communications systems.

_**XxxX.**_

The convoy moved along Interstate 80 at slightly below the posted speed limit. Optimus wanted to travel faster, but he insisted upon his Autobots respecting the human laws and felt he needed to serve as the example. Also, he was well aware that their every action might be scrutinized and with the fate of Cosmos hanging over them, the Prime didn't want to give their human enemies fuel for an attack.

_Human enemies_. Not a term he liked. He felt the wilt of failure in having so many of Earth's inhabitants speak out against his kind. He understood the hesitancy towards the Autobots, and wondered if different circumstances would have produced a different response in the organics. He wondered what his response would be to vastly superior aliens accidentally demolishing a Cybertronian city. He wanted to think that his race would respond differently in a similar situation, but he just couldn't convince himself that they would.

The plaintive wail of a police siren pulled Optimus out of his thoughts, and Prowl sped past him to take to lead position as they entered the city. The black and white police cruiser used his lights and siren to cut a swath through the increasing traffic, clearing vehicles from the Autobots' path. Originally, Prime didn't approve of the SIC's mimicry of human law enforcement, but now it served an invaluable purpose.

Prime felt Cosmos shift. The flatbed trailer behind him rocked, sending uncomfortable tremors through his tow-hitch. His left side tires momentarily lost traction with the pavement, forcing him to slow.

::Settle down back there:: Optimus hoped his gentle admonishment wouldn't be taken the wrong way by Cosmos. Since this trip had begun, the scientist pouted and grumbled moodily about being covered with a tarp and strapped down. Optimus tried to point out that since he had had his flying privileges revoked this was the only way they could transport him to Washington. Everyone agreed that the mech was more upset about the fact that the Prime was towing him than anything else.

A tan, military humvee pulled next to him, another beside Bumblebee and the third brought up the rear behind Smokescreen. The driver of the vehicle gave him a wave, and he flicked his headlights on and off in response. The members of the convoy tightened up their formation, each member knowing his, or in the case of one of the drivers, her role and carrying it out flawlessly. All sensors and senses open, trying to locate potential problems. This hyper alertness wasn't to protect the public; it was to protect them from the public, a buffer from those that might wish to get too close, for whatever reason, harmful or benign. Since the existence of the Cybertronians had become common knowledge, the Autobots found it more and more difficult to travel incognito. One or two of them might be able to move about without attracting much attention, but when five of them traveled together, and had a military escort, they became rather obvious, especially him with his red and blue flames.

::_Well there ain't no UFO gonna catch my diesel! No I don't care if it came from outer space! Well there ain't no UFO gonna catch my diesel…cause there ain't no machine gonna take its place!_:: Came blaring over the open communications link the Autobot's shared amongst themselves, startling the mechs. Optimus wondered how many of the others also had to override their battle protocols.

::Primus, not another truck song:: Smokescreen moaned.

::Sir, might I suggest that once we are clear of this human city, that you allow me to disconnect a few…receptors from Bumblebee's array?:: Prowl asked with his typical dry delivery.

Optimus chuckled. Since they left the base, Bumblebee treated them to songs about big rigs, lonesome highways, and truck-stop waitresses, causing Prime to knock around the idea of finding a different alt form when they returned home. Perhaps something a bit more dignified.

The joke had started with Velocity. The femme watched them load and strap Cosmos to a flatbed trailer, her lithe frame leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, green optics observing everything. He had sat near her, in his alternate form, while Sergeant Stevens attached a banner and red flags to his grill.

His sensors tracked his mate as she, straightened and moved in front of him. Crouching on hands and feet, she gave his front end a good, long look. First her optics lit up with barely contained mirth, then her facial plates slowly, spread into a wide smile, and finally she started laughing. Not a restrained chuckle, but that rare, deep laugh that crackled along his wires and caused his pump to speed up.

"You realize you have a sign saying 'Wide Load' slapped across your bumper?" she chuckled. "Personally, I would be horribly offended." Her optics twinkled with merriment.

He revved his engine, even if he wasn't certain that he understood the joke. The humans did though, they snickered and a couple referred to him as the "Big 'Bot", stressing the word "big". He wanted to comment that Cybertronians could not add extra layers of adipose like humans, but instead, remained silent. The good natured taunts chased away the tension surrounding their preparations for the trip.

"Gee, Optimus, maybe I should have downloaded a few songs for you," his mate sighed forlornly, as she ran her finger along the hood over his engine. He suppressed a shudder, but something in her optics glittered mischievously. "You know, having something to listen to on the long road trip might make the trip go a little faster." The way she purred out her words made him regret having to leave her at the base.

"_East bound and down, loaded up and truckin'. We gonna do what they say can't be done._ " Blared from a yellow Camaro's speakers and Sam tried to cover his ears and simultaneously place his luggage in the Autobot's trunk.

"Why, thank you 'Bee," Velocity smiled at the scout and he saw the wink she lavished on his subordinate. Groaning inwardly, he wondered what his bonded had in store for him. Washington was two Earth days away, and Velocity had earned her growing reputation for being unpredictable. It could be a long trip.

The femme before him stood, and smiled radiantly, but he could see the sadness behind her optics. A tug along their bond, informed him that she didn't want him to leave. Brushing a slender hand along his grill, she gave him a silent good-bye before departing the hanger. He wondered where she would go to sulk.

The music served as an annoying distraction. It kept them from thinking too much about what awaited on the other side of the continent, about how wrong things could go. When he returned home, he would have to thank his bondmate for giving 'Bee something to keep them all entertained.

_**XxxX.**_

"Don't push," she instructed the woman. Shifting her weight to her knees, Velocity tried to remember what she knew about delivering a child, which in reality wasn't much.

The veins in Mikaela's neck stood out and her skin had a blotchy appearance, while sweat ran down her face and pooled under the collar of her shirt. "It hurts!" The laboring woman pulled her lips back into a feral snarl, perfectly white teeth catching the light. She tried to thrash around, but Simmons' arms held her in place.

Reggie kept muttering, "Oh, shit," like a mantra that would chase away evil spirits.

_It's too early _Velocity thought. The baby wasn't suppose to arrive for several more months and the possibility of all this happening in the empty corridors of the base, made the femme's energon go cold. Helplessness started to curl itself around her soul. She couldn't deliver a baby. She didn't want to deliver a tiny, helpless, soft human into the cold hard world of the Cybertronians.

"RATCHET!" her voice sounded strained and panic filled, even to her audios, filled with the panic she forced back.

Tentatively laying a hand on Mikaela's rounded stomach the femme felt a contraction assault the woman's body. Velocity flicked her optics to the contorted features of the people. She debated whether to scoop Mikaela up and run to Ratchet's medbay, or better yet, take her above ground to the small Doc-In-A-Box the military insisted that the base required. Within nanoseconds she decided against moving the woman at all.

Velocity kept her hand gently resting on the woman's abdomen. It could have been her imagination, but Mickey seemed to calm some to the touch…or it could have been that fact that a large piece of metal was touching her.

Without asking for permission, Velocity slipped a slender finger between Mickey's legs, pressing against the lowest point of the pelvis, special sensors in her fingers relaying the data that she was searching for. The femme ignored the matching looks of shock from the humans. "Good news,' she chimed with false merriment and then quickly moved her hand away. "You are dry as a bone, so your water hasn't broken yet." They still might have some time.

"I think if her water had broken, we would have noticed a huge puddle on the floor," Simmons snapped.

Narrowing her optic shutters in frustration, the femme wanted to come back with a scathing retort, something pithy that would shut him up for good, but then she saw the man's eyes. They were opened just a little too wide, showing white all the way around like a scared horse, _Oh,_ great_, Reggie might be able to stare down a thirty-foot tall alien, but when faced with__one pregnant woman he loses it_.

Velocity tried to pull back on the increasing surge of flailing panic. This situation was going downhill at warp speed and as much as she would have liked to take it out on the man, she wouldn't…yet. Straightening her back, she addressed the agent, wanting to keep him calm and as levelheaded as possible. "Not always, sometimes it is more like a slow drip or like someone piddled themselves, just depends on how big the tear in the sack is." Amazingly, rattling on cleared away some of her anxiety, it gave her mind something else to focus on besides horrid what-if's. She cooed at the woman on the floor, "Mikaela, don't push, ok? I don't care how bad you need to, don't. Ratch'll be here in a few and he'll make sure you and the baby will be fine…"

"Oh good, you're lurking around WebMD. That isn't going to do her much good." The man's snide voice hit a volatile cord in the already stressed femme.

With serpentine grace and speed, she leaned towards the special agent, closing the distance between them. Simmons reflexively raised a hand to block a coming blow and tried to hide behind the woman leaning against him. That angered the femme even more.

Planting a hand on either side of the humans sprawled in the hallway, she narrowed her optic shutters, a hateful scowl on her facial plates, and stared directly into Agent Simmons's eyes. "My father made sure I could take care of myself so men like you wouldn't know that I existed. Shockingly enough, I do have some basic medical knowledge, but delivering a child is not something I ever thought I would need to know how to do, and I wouldn't dare attempt to do it with these…" Raising a hand between them, she turned it so that the light caught on the sharp angles of her coppery digits,"…even if I felt comfortable attempting such a thing… which I don't! So, I would suggest that you keep your comments to yourself unless you know exactly how to handle this." She turned her attention back to the woman, never noticing the stunned silence that followed her words. "Come on, just hang in there; Ratchet has to be on his way," _I hope, _she said to herself.

The thundering echo of footfalls came to her audios and the femme tensed, praying that a glare of green would round the corner. Looking over her shoulder to the juncture behind her, she saw Ratchet blowing into the hallway at a full run, his heavy stride sending small tremors through the flooring. Relief filled her every circuit and the femme couldn't have been happier to see him.

The mech slid to an abrupt halt then dropped to his knees. Velocity scrambled to get out of the way so the medic had full access to his patient. It took the CMO less than a second to start cursing in Cybertronian.

Ratchet hastily stood and stepped back. Without a word the CMO folded into his alternate form, his lights casting beams of red and brilliant white on the walls. Velocity carefully stood, blinking when one of the strobes flashed into her optics, momentarily blinding her.

"Agent Simmons, assist Mrs. Witwicky." The medics disembodied voice echoed around them, and his tone stalled any questions. The doors on the back of the search and rescue hummer opened, showing a narrow space barely big enough for the two people.

Velocity watched Simmons slip an arm around Mikaela's back and held her elbow to guide her. The dozen or so shuffling steps the woman took looked full of pain, and the femme wondered if even that small distance was too much.

Simmons balked when he peered into the back of the Autobot. "I thought you were an ambulance. There isn't anything back here."

"I am _not _an ambulance; I have merely assumed the disguise of one. Now, help Mikaela, I need to get to get her to a hospital," the medic barked, and shifted impatiently on his shocks

Simmons didn't hesitate and picked Mikaela up, stepping inside the back of the Autobot. He laid her on the hard floor, and Velocity saw him whisper something to the woman. Once he had her secured, the agent turned to step out.

"No, you stay. I need human hands in case she goes into full labor." Before the ambulance doors snapped shut, the femme caught a glimpse of an unusually rattled Reggie, his eyes wide and begging her… anyone to save him.

"You're coming too," the medic ordered.

Velocity looked around to make sure no on else had entered the area. Realizing that Ratchet meant her, she wanted to argue, but he cut off her reply.

"You are faster and if Mikaela gets any worse you will have to travel ahead with her, also I need someone to return Simmons to the base later."

The femme snapped her mouth closed and dropped into her alt mode. The little red Saturn fell in behind the green hummer as they headed towards the elevator.

_**XxxX**_

Velocity didn't want to run the gauntlet awaiting them just off the Autobot of alien enthusiasts lined the main road, just outside of the entrance, each hoping for a glance of an actual Transformer. "Transformers," a phrase coined by the media and quickly accepted by the general public, a term to describe them, and their abilities in one concise word. It could either be used as a rude racial slur or an utterance of wonderment, and now she would hear it shouted by a mob of excited humans.

Fortunately, Ratchet chose not to go that way. Instead, he opted for a less-traveled route across the back of the base. Barely more than a couple of ruts in the dirt, the trail intersected with a service road just outside of Tranquility. The Autobots had cut several new "roads" in and around their desert home; paths that didn't show up on any maps nor did they have any markers to identify them.

Velocity followed Ratchet as he negotiated the rough, dirt trails. The medic was built for off-roading his larger tires and higher clearance easily allowed him to travel faster, but he didn't. He carefully rolled over dips and rises, gently moving along, so that his passengers didn't receive the beating of their lives; a trade-off, of safety over speed. Velocity didn't mind the slower pace, she had already scraped her undercarriage on the rocks enough times that she knew she would need a new paint job

Once the hummer's tires hit smooth tarmac the medic chose speed. He took off with a roar, throwing loose gravel into the air as his tires bit into the road for purchase. Velocity had little trouble keeping up with Ratchet on the concrete, his heavier weight and boxy design couldn't compete with her lightweight and low, aerodynamic shape. She cruised along, inches from his bumper, tucked within the larger mech's slipstream

Velocity assumed that Ratchet would choose the turnoff that lead around the ruined town of Tranquility, but the mech continued on a straight course.

Gunning his engine, the hummer blew through the barriers that blocked errant traffic from entering the town. Splinters of orange and white wood flew outwards and around them. A scrap of a ruined sawhorse bounced off Velocity's rear quarter panel and clattered to the road behind her.

The desolate town became a blur to the two Autobots as they tore along the battle had scattered streets, swerving to avoid the scattered refuse at speeds no human driver could maintain. Velocity's nimble form easily slalomed around the garbage and chunks of collapsed buildings. Several times she had to slam on her breaks to avoid rear-ending, the CMO when he slowed to negotiate the rubble-littered streets.

They arrived at a juncture. North would take them to Reno and south would go to Las Vegas. The medic headed south, quickly slipping past civilization and into the harsh desert.

::Ratchet, Reno is closer:: the femme pointed out over a communications channel.

::I am aware of that, but Las Vegas has a better Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit.:: The mech sounded terse in his reply and Velocity remained silent. It didn't matter to her where they went and he was the CMO.

_**XxxX**_

Bumblebee pulled out of formation, blowing past both Prime and Prowl. Neither commented or attempted to stop him as they had all received the transmission from Ratchet.

The yellow scout hit the first off ramp, using the overpass to turn around and get back onto the interstate, and passed them going the opposite direction. Optimus silently wished them and the baby well.

::What do you suggest, sir?:: Prowl's calm voiced echoed over the general comm.

::We will continue to Camp Dodge as planned. Right now, there is nothing that warrants our involvement.:: He didn't want to continue, he wanted to turn around and take a vigil outside a hospital until he knew that both the mother and her child were safe. The endless possibility of something going wrong during the process of childbirth chilled his energon, and yet so many humans disregarded those risks and procreated anyways. He listed it among the many reasons of why humans fascinated him.

_**XxxX**_

The small convoy passed him. Their speed and formation attracted his attention first. He didn't need to see the blazing Autobot shield on the side of the larger one or even sense their energy fields to guess what they were. The few humans he witnessed driving at such speeds and so closely together had terminated themselves fairly quickly.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Hardcore followed at a safe distance. He held little concern if any realized his presence; they seemed to have other concerns on their processors. He would simple turn and leave the area if they confronted him, but his curiosity demanded to know what had the pair in such a hurry.

On a secured frequency, he notified his teammates. ::This is Hardcore. I am following a couple of Autobots, stand by for my orders.:: If nothing else, this could break the monotony

_**XxxX**_

The drive took longer than she would have liked. Anxiety and impatience made her contemplate trying to talk Ratchet in letting her rush ahead with Mikaela, but the medic verbally snapped at her whenever she even pinged his comm line. Time slowed down for the femme and minutes crept by like hours. She feared that they wouldn't make it in time. A normal delivery on the side of the road was risky. A delivery on the side of the road of a premature baby was unthinkable.

They had to slow once they entered the outskirts of the city. Ratchet ran his lights and sirens to cut a path through the other vehicles, but a few assholes didn't seem bothered by the ambulance and refused to move. Velocity logged their plates into her memory files, deciding that a little vengeance would be in order later on.

Pulling off the interstate and onto a secondary road slowed their rate of traveling. The traffic lights and the congestion of Sin City made her growl with frustration. More than one person gave her an odd look, and she remembered that she had not activated her holoform. People stared, as a shockingly beautiful woman shimmered into being in her driver seat. Velocity wondered how many would recognize a young Greta Garbo

::How is Mickey?:: Anxiety constricted her vocals, making her words sound edgy and tense.

::Holding in there. She has expressed her displeasure at Agent Simmons presence:: Ratchet's clipped words sounded as strained as hers

::And how is Agent Simmons?:: She shifted lanes with Ratchet, ignoring the blare of horns behind her.

The lack of response worried her

Pulling into the parking lot of Summerlin Hospital, Ratchet swung around and parked under the ER awning. Velocity rolled to a stop about thirty feet behind him, not wanting to be in the way.

Within seconds a group of scrub-clad people rushed a gurney to the back of the lime green ambulance, a few of them eyed the incognito mech wearily. A slender, dark skinned man never slowed as he jumped up and disappeared into the Autobot, and shortly reappeared with Mikaela wrapped in his arms. He carried her to the gurney and carefully laid her on it. As Simmons jogged behind the gurney, the group disappeared through the glass sliding doors of the hospital. The haste and the flurry of activity suddenly stopped, and a surreal calm fell across the parking lot like a down blanket.

Ratchet rolled forward and slowly made his way to a parking space, with stately dignity; he sank down on his shocks. Velocity followed his lead, choosing a place next to him. She didn't like the new calm, she wanted to pace and fidget. Perhaps, find something to keep her mind busy, not sit and listen to her engine tick as it cooled.

::Now what?:: she queried.

::Now, we wait::

_**XxxX**_

After being delayed by a stop light—he hated having to follow the human's traffic laws, but he had to so not to draw attention to himself—the sleek Aston Martin pulled into the hospital's parking lot. He quickly made his way to the area designated for doctors. The internet had informed him that human medics held places of status in society and they displayed their station by purchasing vehicles similar to the one he modeled his alt form after. Finding a parking place with a sufficient view of the Autobots, he quickly powered down and watched. He felt certain no one would notice his lack of driver, humans and mechs alike could be obscenely unobservant when their thoughts were elsewhere.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N**: The song lyrics are from _The Trucker and The UFO _by Brush Arbor and _East Bound and Down _by Jerry Reed. I never thought that my grandfather's old collection of trucking songs would ever come in handy. I just kept them for sentimental value. Who knew?

Also, I am sorry for the slowness of the updates. Sadly, RL is being a bugger and I have only a fraction of the time I did to devote to writing. Please bear with me, I promise that I will finish this it is just taking longer than expected.

To **Novamyth** – OP's headaches are just beginning. To **Phoenix13** – I'm not really trying to convert people to OP worship, but… You are absolutely correct. He wants her to grow, learn and become what he thinks she is capable of becoming, but pushing will be counterproductive. To **Hemlock Dalise** – I am a tease. XD To **Cybernetic Mango** – Ditto. To **Taluliaka **– Here is that update. Um… If reading shower sex scenes is immature, what does that make the writer? XD Thank you. Op is a complex character and tragic character. To **Neko-Yami911** – Thank you. My personal philosophy is that sex in stories should serve a purpose. A way for the characters to show devotion, caring and love, beyond that is just a gimmick…unless it is PWP then that is a different animal entirely. To **ctanonymous** – LOL. That is ok. I write slow. Thank you. I have tried to craft an OC that stomps all over the definition of a Mary Sue and then rises above. (I like her cussing too, she gets to say what people really wish they could) To **Moosagi** and **April Raven Girl** – Thank you. I have spent more time than is healthy thinking about the ins and outs of sharing (and not in that way). Truly knowing everything that another being has done, thinks and feels would be daunting, and then to still love that being afterward, well… Don't all spouses think things like that about their husbands or wives, I know I do. XD. To **nix **– Thank you. You can add this story to your Alert List and the updates will automatically fall into your inbox. To **karduk** – Thank you. Because of your comment I have added a section on my profile with all of the mechs' names and altforms. This will be updated as characters show up. Can't have any spoilers.

A special thank you to everyone who has added HOTF to their Favorite and Alert lists.


	29. Exposed

**Rating: **M for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, mech erotica, torture.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by Hasbro/Takara Tomy. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is a 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

Beta Read by: The amazing **Okamichan**, and the stylish **i-love-me-some-leggy-poo**. Thank you ladies.

_**XxxX**_

_**Exposed**_

_**XxxX**_

The small vessel slipped silently through the inky void of space. Light from a nearby star reflected off its dull, mismatched surfaces. Oxidation flaked and corroded one side of the craft, as if it had been left, oddly exposed to hostile elements. Deft, sure movements and the burn-off from powerful engines, hinted that this could be something more than an errant piece of junk.

The cool blue optics carefully monitored the readouts, making sure that the old craft held together long enough to reach its destination. A slender hand moved gracefully across the control panel, making a slight alteration to the shuttle's course.

She checked the fuel level. As a small Scout Class craft, the _Acquisition_, re-christened _Decrepit_ by her team, was never designed to make an interstellar voyage of such magnitude. The original fuel cells hadn't been large enough to make it even halfway; therefore, almost the entire interior of the ship had to be gutted to hold the "newer" fuel cells. Combined with the fact that the_ Decrepit_ had laid oxidizing for three hundred vorn, half of it sticking out of a building it had crashed into when the Autobots shot it down made this one of the ugliest and uncomfortable ships she had ever flown. The modifications left only a small space in the cockpit for her and her meager rations.

Only the Decepticons would have left a perfectly good spacecraft lying about. She laughed to herself, imagining the looks on their faces when she had started up the engines and fired the thrusters. They had no clue that a ship was being refitted and stolen right under their nasal ridges. "Stupid 'Cons."

Giving the old vessel a pat of encouragement, she disturbed ages of grime that accumulated on every surface. It wouldn't be long now. It wouldn't be long before she snuggled within the arms of her mate, something that she hadn't been able to do for several hundred vorn. Her spark fluttered with excitement when she thought about sharing with him. Her circuits tingled, and her core temperature rose as she imagined what he might look like. Would he have kept the same color scheme? Would the vehicles of the alien world he lived on add to his aesthetic appeal? Would she even be able to recognize him? Images of their last, brief sharing played behind her optics, and she blinked several times to chase away the bittersweet memories. _That was then and this is now_, she reminded herself.

She focused on piloting, forcing her revved engine to slow. Daydreams and fantasies would distract her from her mission. Once she knew, once she could prove that this wasn't some Decepticon trap, and that her team could come out of hiding, then and only then would she open the bond that she had sealed to protect them both.

_**XxxX**_

_Tired... weary... dull...monotonous...the doldrums..._

"Ennui," the femme sighed. She didn't enjoy sitting in the parking lot of a huge hospital in a major city with nothing to do but monitor a stray sheet of paper as it blew aimlessly around. The weather had turned from cold to bitter. Frigid wind blew against her armor, and the clouds above hung with the heavy promise of snow, not an unheard of occurrence in the desert. The afternoon grew grayer, darkening long before nightfall, matching her mood and accentuating the fact that her companion ignored her and her inquiries. Ratchet sat beside her, as still and silent as a real ambulance.

Boredom chewed at her. Unable to pace or otherwise busy herself, Velocity sat, compacted and folded into the guise of a Saturn Sky coupe. She wanted to fidget, to drum her fingers, to just be able to move, but without any way to vent her anxiety, the demonic "what-ifs" threatened to possess her processor. What if they hadn't made it in time? What if something happened to the baby? What if something happened to Mikaela? How would they tell Sam? What would they tell Sam? What if everyone lived and the Decepticons decided to attack?

She attempted to gather up the endless and useless questions, tried to corral them and purge them from her mind. They did nothing but spawn new fears and worries that she couldn't do a thing about. She just wished that she had some glimmer of hope, some bit of information to let her know that everybody still lived and that the woman and child were at least being tended to, and not shoved into some dank, dusty corner of the seven-story building, forgotten and ignored.

She wiggled her tires back and forth, and then activated her windshield wipers, followed by flicking her turn signals on and off. Sighing, she fidgeted a little more, adjusting the position of her seats. "Have you heard anything?" she spoke aloud, hoping to draw the CMO's attention, but her hopes weren't very high. He had completely ignored her presence since they arrived.

::If you cannot be quiet, perhaps you can remain still?:: snapped the day-glow green Hummer parked next to her. His words raked over her internal receptors.

The ire in his words fell like a match on dry tender. She had only asked a simple question. "What _the_ _fuck_ is that supposed to mean!"

::It means that you either need to use the comm. Line. and stop moving about, or remain silent and stop moving about.:: The admonishment hung in the air around him and laced his words.

::Fine, is this better?:: she hissed across the communications frequency, sinking low enough on her struts to scrape her undercarriage against the concrete. ::I don't see what difference it makes.::

::The humans are observing us, and can hear our conversations, or have you even noticed them? I would prefer that we draw as little attention to ourselves as possible.

Velocity mentally rolled her optics at the medic, and a small growl escaped her vocals. Of course she noticed the people that stared and pointed, she just chose to ignore them. The crowd that had gathered upon their arrival grew little by little; mostly made up of scrub-clad hospital workers, a couple of security guards and a mish-mash of others, probably visitors tired of sitting in waiting rooms. Their presence meant little, as long as they stayed huddled under the awning, well away from her.

Her frame shook with pent-up frustration. She had done nothing to earn his terseness, and she refused to become his whipping boy…femme…robot…whatever. "Wow, do you think that they might _not _notice us? I mean, golly, you're painted so bright you practically glow in the dark. Hey, Mr. Obvious, I'm pretty sure they know we are here, and they have called and texted all of their friends. Hell, our location is probably all over Twitter by now," she grit out, angry sarcasm tainting her comments.

Without warning the passenger side door of the ambulance swung open, slamming onto her side panel with a resonating thud, effectively ending her rant. ::We have been here all of eleven breem and you act as if this is the worst torture you could ever endure. Are you even concerned about Mikaela and the baby?:: the medic yelled over a comm. Line.

Wincing from the impact and the ringing in her internal audios, Velocity refused to back down. ::Of course I am concerned. We have been here for eleven breem…ninety-two minutes. For _ninety-two_ _fucking_ minutes I have asked you a dozen times what is going on and all you do is an amazing impression of a wart on someone's ass!:: she shouted back, engine revving in irritation.

::Just uplink to the hospital's patient files through the courtesy WiFi…::

The red coupe made an odd choking, grinding sound. ::And how, exactly, DO I DO THAT? Please tell me. Stupid ass, superior robots forget that I can't do everything that they can.::

Ratchet did not respond for a full minute. She was certain that the humans watching the strange exchange could feel the tensions between them. Then the air around the Humvee changed; the static charge of anger dissipated.

::I do not have much information. The Hospital has admitted her and started an I.V. That is all the computer records show:: Ratchet sighed, sinking on his tires a little as if the weight of the world rested upon his hood.

::Um…Thank you.:: Velocity backed down, confused at the medic's sudden change in disposition.

They settled back into silence. After a bit, a tingle brushed along her electrical field as Ratchet reached out to her. In human terms, it would have been the equivalent of someone squeezing her shoulder, or a pat on the back, a gesture of friendship and support. She didn't pull away, allowing her field to brush along his in acceptance.

::I can crawl through the doors and bang on the information desk if you want me to.::

Ratchet's humorless response came back. ::Not yet.::

**XxxX**

He sat alert and watching, making sure that he didn't move or shift, keeping all non-essential systems powered down as not to accidentally draw attention to himself. Curiosity chewed at his processor, and he fought the urge to slip a little closer to the duo of Autobots. The World Wide Web gave him enormous amounts of data as to the nature of the building that they all sat in the shadow of. Humans called it a hospital, the equivalent of a Cybertronian med bay, a place where humans went for repairs. Hardcore wondered what unlucky event befell one of the Autobots' pets.

The World Wide Web, an endless archive of information just waiting for plundering, this… internet had surrendered vast amounts of data on the Autobots. In his willingness to appease the humans, Optimus Prime had made a strategic mistake, sacrificing the security of the mechs that followed him. He allowed the humans to photograph and even know the names of most of the "Bots" residing on Earth, now all the Decepticons had to do was tap a few choice web sites and they could easily keep track of their enemies numbers and movements. All thanks to humanities' insistence for the freedom of information, a ridiculous concept, and a more ridiculous practice to allow the masses to control the tidal wave of knowledge. Hardcore grunted to himself. The shortsighted and arrogant animals probably cannot grasp the concept that the only the Prime stood between them and extinction, and the more data they relayed, the more they jeopardized their own survival.

A tingle of nervous of ran along his circuits when he looked across the rows of Earth vehicles towards the Autobots, and thanks to the humans, he easily identified them. The Autobot medic had to be the larger one, Ratchet suffered from the horrid habit of choosing the most repulsive color combinations he could find. The Decepticons joked that the mech had to have faulty spectrum differentiators in his optics sensors, and none of the weak sparked Autobots dared tell him. Also, his current alt form seemed a tad…redundant. The CMO's presence made Hardcore cautious, but not overly concerned. The Autobot could fight with a lethal efficiency...when he fought. The Decepticon knew that even if the medic detected him, he wouldn't initiate a confrontation, giving everyone a chance to back away. Ratchet was dangerous, but not overly aggressive.

The other Autobot present had to be the femme; the lines of the alt mode matched the handful of images he found of her. It didn't surprise him to find a functioning Autobot femme, a few had survived the assault on their base, and the Decepticons had slowly picked them off one by one. This one could easily be descended from a couple of those femmes, but he wondered whose progeny. The femmes hadn't produced a known sparkling since before the war. Could this one be evidence that the femmes still survived and in greater numbers than first thought? On the other hand, was she the last of an ineffective body style?

Hardcore admitted his curiosity about her to himself. He did not particularly care for femmes one way or another, but this one made a large, blank void in his files, an unknown. What was her temperament? Her abilities? Her willingness to kill? If it hadn't have been for the presence of the other Autobot, he might have approached her with a small challenge to see how she handled herself.

Perhaps she could make a decent plaything, something to help pass the cycles on this little dirt-ball of a planet.

_**XxxX**_

Sam leaned his head against Bumblebee's cold window, staring at the scenery that blurred past, not seeing any of it. His attention turned too far inward, buried deep within his own anxiety, unable to notice what went on around him. Absentmindedly chewing on the cuticle of his index finger, he didn't bother putting his hands on the steering wheel; it took too much effort to pretend to drive. A small part of his mind reminded him that nothing could be done right now and to let his friend take charge. Isn't that what friends were for, someone to lean on, someone to figure out the best course of action when the shit hit the fan?

When that call came in from Ratchet, he sat in stunned stupidity, unable to think beyond the idea that Mikaela, his Mickey, could be in danger. They had faced danger before, during the battles with the Decepticons. Both he and Mikaela knew that one or both might lose their lives, and they accepted that fact. Perhaps they spent too much time around career military, or warrior robots, but to die fighting for freedom and the survival of both humans and Cybertronians, sounded a hell of a lot better than fading away, forgotten in some dingy nursing home. But this...this they couldn't fight. No amount of brawn or firepower would help. Epps couldn't call in an air strike, Optimus couldn't fight it in hand-to-hand combat, and Ironhide couldn't blow up what threatened the person...people he cared for the most. They couldn't even run from it, unable to dodge or hide from it.

Hot tears streamed down his face, and he wiped them away. Balling his hands into fists, he wanted to hit something. He wanted unleash his fear and frustration on something; he wanted to scream at the stupidity of it all. He and Mikaela had given up their common, normal lives to help their friends, to be a part of something greater than themselves. They had thrown away their chance at living a boring life in middle-America suburbia.

Pre-term labor. His baby boy was coming early, too early. He hoped that the little guy had the Witwicky fight in him. His family motto of "No Sacrifice, No Victory" popped into his head and he wondered what the sacrifice would be this time. Running his hand through his hair, he didn't want to think about what he could lose, some sacrifices were too much.

Why him, why now?

As his thoughts slowly unraveled, he realized they could lose their child, their unborn baby. A person he loved, but had never met. He tried to imagine what the child looked like and couldn't. He thought about the baby furniture he had cussed at while trying to assemble it. He thought about the tiny outfits, the little footed sleepers he watched Mikaela diligently fold and place in the dresser. He wondered if he would be able to look at those things again if something...bad happened. He wanted to be with woman he loved, to hold her...protect her.

Fear squeezed his heart until his chest hurt. A heavy lump sat in the back of his throat.

"I'm so scared 'Bee. What if I lose them?"

"We won't lose them," the Autobot responded confidently.

Sam clung to the Camaro's words. A calm assurance that all would be fine, that everyone would live happily ever after, even though he knew it might be a lie.

_**XxxX**_

The people stayed a healthy distance from them, mostly encouraged by the two security guards that hadn't left the area. Concrete and rocky landscaping made up a few dozen feet of no-man's-land, separating the Autobots from the humans and no one volunteered to cross it. At the moment, everyone respected the other's space, and that was fine with Velocity.

Since their arrival outside of Summerlin Hospital, the number of onlookers fluctuated in a rhythm-less pattern, controlled by such incalculable forces as hunger and shift change. After a while, the people grew restless, intense interest faded into passing glances and casual shrugs. It took more than a couple of sentient cars sitting in a parking lot to keep the attention of the mass public, and neither she nor Ratchet had transformed, and gone on a rampage; shooting up cars or ambulatory patients, so there had to be more entertaining things to watch elsewhere.

Ratchet graciously updated her whenever he found out any new information on Mikaela, but most of that consisted of nurse checks, blood pressure readings, and medications, the femme didn't know a thing about. She considered asking the CMO what all of that meant, but the strain in his voice when he talked warned against needless chatter.

A gaggle of nurses pushed their way to the front. The five-some, dressed in scrubs and tennis shoes, huddled together, studying a piece of paper one woman held in her hand. Velocity couldn't hear what they whispered to each other, but she didn't need to. One of the women, clearly the leader of the bunch, pointed at the paper then at Ratchet, making tracing motions in the air with her fingers, while whispering to her cohorts.

A plump blonde in lilac scrubs covered with cartoon puppies had made it past the security guards with a smile and a wink. Cautiously stepping into the buffer zone between the Autobots and humans, she slowly walked toward them, wrapping her arms around her to stave off the cold or fear or both. Some of her fellow nurses called her back and she waved them away, and one of the security guards commented about a dinner owed. Velocity considered filing a formal complaint against both guards for their lack of professionalism, or effectiveness, or something. The nurse, Joyce according to her name badge, stopped about ten feet away.

Everyone waited.

Joyce raised her hand in greetings and squeaked, "Hi".

Velocity looked to Ratchet to take the lead, but the medic remained quiet. Annoyed by his rude behavior, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Modulating her tone into a whisper, she purred, "I think you have an admirer. Some women think doctors are hot."

Before Ratchet could comment or retaliate, the doors to the ER entrance slid open. She watched as a haggard looking man in scrubs and a white coat came stomping out with Agent Simmons pushing him along. Velocity pulled forward until her front bumper scraped against the curb, she wanted a clear view of the coming drama. The brave nurse made a hasty retreat.

Simmons grabbed the man's elbow and steered him around the group of onlookers.

"Let go," the man snapped, drawing the attention of the mismatched security guards. The ambitious rent-a-cops perked up, their hands immediately dropping to check their weapons before they moved to intercept the duo.

Velocity tensed, ready to transform and step between everybody and Reggie.

Agent Simmons must have seen the guards. He turned to face them; opening his coat, he showed them a badge and I.D. pinned to the inside of his coat and the hilt of a firearm tucked in his shoulder holster. His words carried well in the cold air. "My gun is bigger, my badge is shinier, and if you mess with me I will crush you." Velocity couldn't say if the man's aggressive display, his cock-sure comments or that odd twinkle of instability that lit his eyes, but the guards backed down. One even raised his hands in mock surrender. Perhaps twelve dollars and forty cents an hour only bought so much courage.

Unhindered, Simmons escorted the man in the white coat off the curb, across the drive, and onto the small rock covered median to stand in front of her and Ratchet.

Reggie's eyes quickly scanned the scene around him; they flicked across her, Ratchet, the clouds above, the crowd behind him, the rounded stones at his feet, and then went back to Ratchet. Simmons stood ramrod straight, his shoulders squared and elbows held tightly at his sides, hands twitching. Velocity didn't like the nervous air that surrounded the Special Agent; something had upset the unflappable Simmons.

She rocked on her shocks a little. "Please tell me you have good news."

The man in the lab coat jerked when she spoke. Too much white showed around his dark brown irises and his rich, dark skin had an ashy pallor to it. He stayed his ground though, thrusting his chin in the air, and silently daring them to challenge him.

The ambulance beside her just sighed.

Simmons shot her a confused look, but didn't respond to her comment. Instead, he turned and addressed the man. "Alright, I want you to tell them everything you told me."

"Them?" the man stammered.

Simmons rolled his eyes, exasperation relaxing him a little. "Yes, them. Since the cat is out of the bag and I can do this now, let me introduce you to Autobots Ratchet and Velocity. Autobots, this is Doctor Brunhick, OBGYN. He has been attending to Mrs. Witwicky. "

Ratchet shifted on his shocks. "It is nice to meet you Doctor. How is Mikaela?"

For his part, Brunhick stared, his jaws clinched and the muscles on the side of his face twitched. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled package and slowly removed a cigarette, lifting it to his mouth. The cellophane wrapper crinkled in his hand while he searched for his lighter.

Simmons threw his hands in the air. "Great, a physician that smokes!"

After lighting up, the doctor took a long inhale and turned on the agent. Thick wisps of acrid smoke escaped his nose and mouth as he exhaled a dragon-like breath. "It isn't any of your business, but I started smoking when I was twelve and have tried fifteen times to quit. You are the one that dragged me away from my patients to meet… them." He waved the hand holding the cigarette in the general direction of the two Autobots, the lit end glowing like a radioactive cherry, cutting an abstract design in the winter air. The doctor's expression instantly shifted, he vaguely apologetic. "No offense to you two, but I didn't start my day planning on meeting aliens."

"No one ever does." Velocity mumbled more to herself than anyone else. The group ignored her.

The crowd that had gathered to watch tightened its ranks and pushed forward a couple of steps. The guards moved in front of the mob, flapping their arms like they were shooing geese, while looking over their shoulders to keep an eye on the drama starting to play out in the parking lot.

Dr. Brunhick glared at Simmons in open defiance; had they been dogs, their hackles would have been raised and their lips pulled back into viscous snarls. Velocity wondered what exactly had transpired within the confines of the hospital, or had Reggie just been his normal congenial self, aggravating every person he could?

"Oh, for fuck's sake, would you two stop with the pissing contest." A silence as heavy as the low clouds above them followed the wake of her words.

Dr. Brunhick turned to her, a scowl creasing his face. He stared at a spot on her hood near her windshield, nowhere near visual sensors, but she didn't think that he would care to be corrected.

"There are privacy laws that protect a patient from government agents posing as uncles," the doctor turned giving Simmons a pointed look, "or aliens practicing medicine without formal training or a license." The last comment had to be directed towards Ratchet since the man jabbed the fingers holding his cigarette in the CMO's direction.

Velocity moaned to herself.

Ratchet lifted himself as high as he could on his rear struts, his front end dipping low and threatening towards the doctor. "I will have you know that I trained longer than humans have had fire, and though we are vastly different, in some regards, treating humans is no different than repairing a Cybertronian, just smaller and wetter."

Velocity quickly glanced at Reggie to see if he might be preparing to move between the arguing medics, but his attention had locked onto her, a frown of deep thought replacing the normal sly grin he wore. With his hands jammed into his suit jackets pocket and the wind whipping his clothes, Simmons had an air of menace about him. A shiver rattled her servos at the look he directed toward her.

"… I don't have to tell you anything. Obviously, none of you are the next of kin."

"Just ask her!" Velocity's words cut sharply through the wind. The three with her jumped, startled at the force of her voice. "Just ask Mikaela. How hard is it to find out her wishes. Hey, doc, you have a phone in your pocket, call her room and ask, or is that just too much trouble. God, I know I'm not the smartest person here, but holy damn."

The doctor had the grace to at least look sheepish and pat his pocket. She bet that had his skin been a lighter color, it would have had a gorgeous rosy hue to it. The man pulled his thin white coat tighter and instinctively moved closer to Ratchet, the biggest wind block available.

Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, Brunhick flipped it open and dialed a number from memory. He waited glaring at everyone. Then he straightened. "Hello, Mrs. Witwicky, this is Doctor Brunhick…Yes, the one that is caring for you until your regular Obstetrician arrives. I'll just get to the point; I have a large, green ambulance wanting personal data on…Yes. You have the right to refuse…"

Ratchet's voice echoed along Velocity's internal speakers, drowning out the noises from the outside world and the doctor's one sided conversation. ::She sounds like she is in pain and exhausted.::

::Are you listening to their phone conversation?:: she shot back over the comm.

::Of course. I wanted to make sure he actually called Mikaela, and didn't try to deceive us.::

Velocity didn't have a comment for that. The CMO's reasoning made sense even if his methods bordered heavily on illegal.

Turning her sensors back onto Simmons she noted the way he continued to glance at her then look away, like he was trying to work something out. She gave a mental shrug, knowing that man it could be anything.

Dr. Brunhick snapped his phone closed and turned back to them, his expression pinched and unpleasant, but the sag in his shoulders hinted of unaccustomed defeat. "I have been informed that not only are you listed as her Primary Physician, but you are one of the three Cybertronians listed on the information release forms that Mrs. Witwicky filled out when she was admitted."

Smug satisfaction rolled off the ambulance sitting next to Velocity, Ratchet knew he had won this battle.

The good doctor crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know if you can legally be an emergency contact, or if robotic aliens even have any legal rights, but for now, I am going to fulfill my patients' wishes, and she wishes for you to be kept informed." Brunhick spat out the last words as if they tasted sour.

Taking a deep breath the man continued. "As you know, Mrs. Witwicky has gone into preterm labor. Ultrasounds show that the baby has not dropped yet, and has a good blood flow to the placenta. Unfortunately, her cervix has dilated to almost four and a half centimeters…"

Simmons threw his hands up in surrender. "Alright, that's it, I am out of here. I don't need to know about anyone's cervix or birth canals. And anyways, she threw a bedpan at me and told me to stay out when the doctor here, wanted to 'check' her."

"No one required your help," Dr. Brunhick snapped at the agent. Throwing the butt of his cigarette on the concrete, he crushed it underneath his heel. A tiny snowflake landed on his ear and he brushed it away.

Reggie shrugged and smirked. "I only offered."

"Thank you for your assistance, but Velocity will take you back to base now." Terse, clipped words of absolute dismissal.

Simmons looked at her and then Ratchet, the corners of his mouth turned down. "No, I'll call the government car-pool guys and they will send me something out."

"Don't be ridiculous," argued the Hummer, "she can take you back to the base."

"I can drive myself," huffed the agent. More tiny snow crystals fell from the sky. Simmons must have seen them, he looked upwards briefly, then rounded his shoulders and pulled his coat tighter around him.

"Optimus would prefer you to have an escort, for your safety."

Dr. Brunhick crossed his arms. "If there is some danger to the patients or staff of this hospital…"

Simmons showed some of his old swagger, placing his hands in his pants pockets and rocking onto his toes, leaning into the doctor's personal space. "Danger? The only danger I see in the immediate vicinity are the rampant germ infestations and the dry, overpriced muffins in the cafeteria. Now, if you had a security clearance of Top Secret or higher, I could tell you about all sorts of dangers. Things that would turn your hair white and keep you awake for weeks." The agent took a deep breath as if to continue his tirade.

Velocity gunned her engine just enough to pop her front tires over the curb, scraping painfully against the concrete. Her front bumper, inches away from the agent's shins. "Reggie, shut up and get in." Flinging her driver side door open, she waited.

Simmons exhaled, his breath a cloud of steam in the cold. Stepping back, he took a long look at her. Thoughts swirled behind his eyes, but she didn't have an inkling as to what the man was thinking. Not that it mattered. After a long minute, he stepped around her open door, his dress shoes crunching on the rocky landscaping. With jerky, hesitant movements, he lowered himself onto the driver's seat.

"Just for the record, I do not want to be here, and dislike sitting in you."

Velocity chuckled. "Just for the record Reggie, I don't like the fact that you are sitting in me and that you have something stuck to the bottom of your shoe."

Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her door handle and pulled. She let him shut the door. A full thirty seconds passed before he pulled the seatbelt and stretched it across his chest and lap; the sound of the metal tongue clicking into the buckle lock echoed loudly, a sharp note of finality. His hands trembled slightly as he laid them on her steering wheel.

"You're safe with me," she cajoled, and then off the curb with a thump. Backing up farther, she aligned her wheels. She honked at the chartreuse ambulance and physician that stood in deep discussion, and then accelerated slowly Brunhick barely glanced at her, but a few of the onlookers waved. She flashed her lights once and made her way to the entrance of the parking lot.

_**XxxX**_

His pump pounded with such force that his frame shook, and his tires dug into the concrete as the femme cruised by carrying Special Agent Reginald Seymour Simmons. Energon and excitement surged through Hardcore's frame. He had done it. He had located the one human that Lord Soundwave required, and only a single Autobot femme kept him from is target.

Hardcore fought the urge to rush after the man. The Decepticon slowly cycled his vents, forcing his revved up system to calm. Brash, impulsive behavior would only get him injured or terminated. He needed to be rational, to think the situation through, but with his objective so close, he could easily imagine the rewards Soundwave might lavish upon him when he returned with the human.

He needed to stay alert, and see the situation clearly. With his teammates further a field, the Autobots still held the tactical advantage of numbers while he only had surprise, but surprise could be a brutal weapon if wielded correctly. Making sure his energy signature remained masked; he waited a full breem before he pulled out of the parking lot. This hunt required patience and perfect timing.

::Hardcore to Thundercracker and Overdrive, meet me at these coordinates…::

_**XxxX **_

As she traveled down the interstate, the wind blew the snow crystals into serpentine shapes, lazily snaking back and forth across the road in front of her, a chaotic pattern that formed a hypnotic swirl in her slipstream, marking where she passed. It wouldn't last though. The dry desert air sucked up what little moisture the snow offered and it would soon evaporate.

Silence hung around her and her passenger, the only noise above the throttle of her engine was the thrum her tires made on the seams in the concrete, a lonesome rhythm to match the dreary day. If it weren't for the awkward weight of her companion in her driver's-seat, she would have forgotten about him.

Simmons sat still and silent, a human statue. Since stopping at a drive-thru, the man hadn't spoken to her at all. Nothing. Not one single rude or snide comment from him, no idle chitchat about the weather or sports, not even a random grunt, just a lingering quiet.

She wondered what kinds of thoughts could silence a man like Reginald Simmons, then decided that it might be better if she did not know. The inner workings of his mind was a place she didn't care to be exposed to or even try to understand, but she wished he knew how much the smell of the burger frustrated her. The warm, luscious grease had soaked through the sack and onto her passenger seat. The thick scent of grilled meat and hot, melted cheese filled her interior and olfactory sensors. Her tank rumbled, complaining that she had yet to fuel up. If he didn't eat it soon, she might have to out of spite and just suffer to consequences.

"Penny for your thoughts," she blurted out while changing lanes to go around a slow moving truck.

Startled, the hand draped over her steering wheel jerked, pulling to the left. That simple action turned her wheels sending her careening onto the shoulder. She slipped off the asphalt and onto the softer material. Fighting him for control over her own body caused her to weave and fishtail all over the highway. The cars nearest to them slammed on their breaks setting off a chain reaction of skidding and honking. A few brave - if foolish - drivers hit their accelerators in an attempt to get around her. Quickly recalling lessons with Wheeljack, she isolated her steering controls, and rerouted the data feed, effectively negating any influence the man had over her.

Simmons yanked hard on her unresponsive steering wheel while stomping on her brake pedals.

"Hey! Back off!" she shouted and Reggie instantly let go. He pressed himself against the seat. Exhibiting a calm she didn't feel, she eased back on her throttle and turned her hazards on. Maybe if the human drivers thought that the little coupe was suffering engine failure…

She shivered. Cold liquid from his drink sloshed within her cup-holder and dripped onto her floor mats. But it was the ghostly sensation of Simmons dictating how and where she moved that un-nerved her. She didn't realize how easy it could be for a passenger to control her, and vowed that this would be the last time anyone ever rode in her.

The traffic shot around them, horns sounding out indignation and road rage. She wanted to flip all of them off. The two seconds of excitement served as two seconds too much. Checking on her passenger, she noted the rapid pulse in his thighs, and the way that he gripped the armrest and seat. She wondered if he was bracing for impact, and decided not to mention that she didn't have airbags.

Slowing, she moved into the right-hand lane, forcing the traffic to go around her. After a few minutes, she found herself alone and out of the pocket of pissed off drivers. She sighed and relaxed. Driving became easier without the press of other vehicles, she didn't have to watch and keep track of everyone around her. Her armor would protect her in a wreck, but she would decimate a normal car or truck, most likely killing any of the passengers. Not something she wished to ever experience.

She could detect Simmons relaxing, a little, but he still seemed uneasy. His respirations and heart rate subsided back to near normal, but he had yet to touch her steering wheel again. She couldn't complain about that.

"That scared the shit out of me. How about you?" She wanted to ease any tension between them. She didn't blame him for what just happened; she should have made sure that he didn't have that kind of access and control to begin with.

A grunt served as his only response as they sped away from the city. The glow from the endless miles of neon lit the horizon behind them, a barrage of blinking signs to draw the attention of native and tourist alike; night never touched the denizens of Las Vegas.

Simmons shifted, and then drummed his fingers against the inside of her door panel. The way that the man sat inside of her, his muscles coiled into taught springs, and the odder than normal behavior acted as a billboard to his emotional state.

"What's up Reggie?" Her voice echoed around them.

The man took a long, deep breath. "Do you want to know?" The unaccustomed somberness in his words worried her. She couldn't feel his hands on her, and scanned him. The man had his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

"I asked." Even to her audios, she sounded falsely cheerful, but she meant it. At some undefined moment, she started considering Simmons a friend. Someone she actually cared about and would do anything to help. She wanted to help him now and solve whatever problem chewed at him.

Realizing that she had slowed even more, she gunned her engine a little. Getting a speeding ticket was one thing, but none of the other Autobots would let her live down getting a ticket for going too slow.

She felt Simmons move. The crinkle of paper preceded the aroma of meat, cheese and pickles. _The __man recovered quickly_, she thought to herself. Had she still been organic, she couldn't have eaten so soon after that close of a call. Around a mouthful of food Simmons spoke. "Did you mean what you said?"

Velocity chuckled. "What did I say?"

"You said that your father wanted to protect you from men like me."

She choked, sputtering as if she had ingested bad gas.

"I know you aren't one of them. I have been around the robots for years, and you don't act like them. You. Are. Different." Simmons used the tone when he made demands, the same deepening of the voice and gravely inflections that forestalled any arguments, and cowed heads of state.

She made a noise to interrupt him, but he ignored her and continued. "Don't try to bullshit me. I have watched you. You talk differently. You laugh at jokes and make comments about things you shouldn't understand. You know how to make risotto for Christ's sake. I have seen the way that Optimus Prime and his officers protect you; they stay between you and everything else. It isn't obvious, but I see it. Don't tell me it is because you are a femme, I doubt that makes one bit of difference."

She jerked as if someone had shocked her, and then sank a little lower onto her shocks. He knew. His smug voice and the way that he continued to munch away confidently at his dinner, spoke volumes. _He knew_. The weight of her secret finally became too much. The months of struggling, of frustration, of everything caught up to her. She didn't feel fear or anger; she felt tired. Tired of hiding, weary and worn down. Unceremoniously she pulled onto the shoulder. Her tires crunched on the gravel, and she made sure that her hazards still blinked monotonously for the world to see. She turned inward, blocking her bond to Optimus, hopefully before he registered that anything could be amiss.

Simmons froze, and several seconds ticked by and neither moved nor spoke. "You aren't going to…" he made a noise mimicking the sound made by a Cybertronian's transformation gears, "…with me in here?"

"No." A semi blew past them; the air displacement rocked her on her tires. She could hear the defeat in her own voice, a resignation to the truth, without thinking about it; she knew that she would not lie to him. "Reggie, you cannot tell anyone. I mean no one…ever. This is something you will have to take to your grave."

He snorted at her. "I deal in secrets, sweetheart. "

Velocity sighed, sinking lower on her struts until her undercarriage touched the gravel. She couldn't bring herself to tell him. The words swirled around in her head, but none of them would come out. What could she say? How could she tell him?

Snow collected around her windshield wipers and on her hood. The cold didn't bother her as it once had. Many things no longer bothered her, small irritations that she had once dealt with day after day, now seem like they belong to a different existence. "Mosquitoes," she commented aloud, "they don't annoy me anymore, and I don't have to wear repellent to keep from getting bit. As a matter of fact I don't have to worry about wearing anything," a small, mirthless chuckle escaped her vocals.

The human within her moved slightly, and she felt the whisper soft sensation of a paper bag landing in her floorboard. "Velocity, are you alright?"

She dismissed the tense concern in Reggie's voice. "Velocity," she enunciated every syllable, dragging the word out. "You know, I never chose that name. Optimus gave it to me; I guess it's a good thing that I like it. I guess it's a good thing that I moved past the fact that they stuck me in this body without asking my permission."

The proverbial damn broke. Feelings and complaints she wanted to discuss with someone other than Optimus came flowing out, a torrent of pent up frustrations.

"That really did piss me off. I liked my old body. I really did. It wasn't perfect, but I had a tail. How many people do you know that actually have tails? This body is pretty nice too, I guess. No one complains about it, and they let me keep my claws. The kicker is that I can't eat. I never realized how much enjoyment I got from food. Deciding what I wanted, going through the motions of making it, then the textures and flavors of eating it." She sighed, and then chuckled. "I sound like an addict and a whiner. Had Optimus not done what he did, I would have missed some of the best parts of my life. Hey, do you know what they ever did with my original body, I never asked."

"Sira?"

Hearing her name had an immediate effect on the femme. Her entire attention turned to the man sitting in her driver's seat. "Don't call me that." A chill entered her tone, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "That name died when I did."

If Simmons felt shock or surprise, he didn't show it. "So you did die. I wondered how much Optimus lied about that."

"Yeah, I died. Can we talk about something else?" Memories flashed behind her optics, spattered gore and the copper smell of fresh blood. The terror, isolation, pain and helplessness that occasionally haunted her nightmares fluttered in the back of her mind. She shoved them away as best she could, and made sure her mate couldn't sense anything from her.

"You sound a little upset there. One minute you're all Chatty-Kathy then the next you turn all emo on me." The man's cocky tone infuriated her, and anger was much more welcome than fear.

"Listen asshole, I died. Ok? The Decepticon, Barricade…he…some things I can't talk about, all right. So just say whatever rude things you want and be done with it." She raised herself on her struts, silently challenging the man.

Simmons didn't move. "You remember what happened? Jesus," he whispered in awe or horror, she couldn't tell which.

The question seemed rhetorical, but she answered it anyway. "Yeah. I do. I still wake up screaming from time to time. If it wasn't for Optimus always being there…" Velocity cringed. That last part just fell out of her vocals and she knew she had said too much.

"You sleep with the Big Guy?" He laughed happily, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

"It's complicated," she mumbled, embarrassment warming her systems. Her cooling fans kicked on.

Simmons chuckled again, and poked her dashboard with his finger. "Oh, I bet it's complicated. Is he good in bed, or do giant, alien robots even get it on?" Gone were the grave tones of before, replaced with a teasing mean.

"You're a dick," she growled.

"At least I have one," he retorted.

She thought about making him get out and walking back to base, but the caress of calloused hands over her steering-wheel distracted her. The touch lingered, and he tightened his grip. It had a possessive quality she didn't like.

"So, what is it like? You know, being a big robot?" Simmons asked, continuing to stroke her interior.

"Stop touching me and I might tell you."

The hands ceased their exploration and rested neutrally on her armrests.

Simmons smirked. "Hey, I've been through sensitivity training. I know that when a woman says 'no' she means 'no'."

The coupe practically bounced. "What?" she yipped, her voice almost an octave higher than normal.

Reggie laughed at her, not a dignified chuckle either, but great guffaws and snorts. "Oh, I would love to see the look on your face right now." he chortled between snickers.

Dropping onto her shocks she pouted. "Har. Har. I'm glad someone finds this funny."

Wiping his eyes, Simmons patted her dash. "Get over it. Sector Seven has been studying the Cybertronians for a hundred years. Much of their tech we barely understand, but some of the scientists theorized that they could change bodies. Anyways you should be happy that they let you live."

She didn't respond to him. His comment held both common sense and alarm. She would have to tell Optimus that the humans might know more that previously believed.

The man twisted in her seat. "So, you are a two-seater. Not very family friendly."

"Never was," she responded flatly.

He took a sip of drink and put the set cup back where is sat, then wiped his hand on his pants. "But a Sky? Isn't that almost…normal. Anyone can own a Saturn, why not chose a Porsche, or Ferrari. I thought the mech liked super cars."

"The point of an altform, among other things, is camouflage. It isn't my fault that _they_ put aesthetics first."

A fighter jet roared over them, mere feet off the ground, startling both her and her passenger. A deafening noise from its engines forced Simmons to cover his ears. The vortex formed by the plane's wake pulled at her, rocking her, threatening to flip her over. She fought to keep all four tires on the ground.

"What the hell!" Simmons leaned forward in her seat to get a better look at the incredibly low flying jet. "Where did that come from?"

A good question. She had been concentrating on their conversation and not to what went on around them. She watched as the F-16 nosed upward, vapor trails forming off its wings. She wished that Reggie had the visual acuity she did, and could watch this with her. The jet was perfectly vertical, silver against the gray-black clouds, hanging suspended before it started to fall back to Earth.

The plane fell backwards, and the engines cut out, their fire extinguished. It had stalled.

"No," She whispered to herself.

If the pilot didn't regain control, the F-16 would crash. She turned off her hazard lights and turned on her blinker, waiting for a couple of cars to pass so she could merge onto the highway. Velocity didn't know what kind of help she and Simmons could offer, but she couldn't sit back and do nothing.

As gravity pulled the craft down, it transformed. Shifting, folding and reforming itself. The jet fighter became something else, someone else.

In the glow of headlights the mech landed. Thick legs absorbed the impact of his free fall, disintegrating the concrete and a van it landed on. Cars and trucks careened off the road in an attempt to avoid the monstrosity. The mech turned towards her, and casually flipped a blue hatchback off the road. Red optics glowed with delighted malice as the Decepticon slowly smiled at her.

_**XxxX**_

"You gotta be shitting me." Catherine Cutter counted the other news vans in the hospital parking lot. "Seven. Seven! There aren't even seven news stations in Vegas."

Jim shrugged his shoulders as he turned the steering wheel, swinging the SUV into a parking spot. "One of them is from an online site that covers nothing but Cybertronian 'happenings', as they call them."

Catherine gazed out the window. She couldn't recall how many times she had witnessed similar scenes, reporters jockeying for the best images, the first to tell the world or dig up the most scandalous of facts. The glare of portable halogen lit up the area so the cameras could photograph the "unfolding" events, and expose every nuance and flaw of those caught in the harsh light, but this seemed…wrong.

The news vans formed a semicircle around the lone, chartreuse Hummer, their floodlights washing him in their glare, detailing every spot of road dirt on his normally bright, shiny paint. She admitted to herself that the angle and view was near perfect; the single Autobot keeping a silent watch, the somber facade of the hospital towering above him and the lights of the city in the background.

Interesting that no one went near the Autobot, but the yellow caution tape and two guards might have something to do with that. She chuckled to herself, pitying anyone foolish enough to ask that irritable Autobot for an interview.

Sympathy for Ratchet stabbed at her, he might be one of the more blunt Autobots, but he didn't seem to be overtly mean. If anything, he came across as proud and grumpy. For a few seconds more, she sat in the Excursion, watching the motionless Cybertronian, knowing that he watched the news vans, and was probably aware of what every person near him was doing.

Catherine pulled her Blackberry out of her purse and read the message again. "Witwicky's wife admitted to Summerlin Hosp. Possible labor. Could it be an alien hybrid? ;)"

"Charles, you are an asshole," the reporter mumbled under her breath. She knew the Witwickys, she doubted that she would ever be invited to their child's birthday parties or receive a Christmas card from them, but she had spent time with them and they were quiet people. Sam wasn't the glory hog that the media tried to make him. She sat up, glancing around the parking lot, looking for a splash of vibrant yellow and not finding it. Why wasn't Bumblebee here? He hovered over his human friends like a nervous hen. Something wasn't right, because where one found Sam, one found 'Bee.

"Hey, Jim. Do you think that you could park the truck over there?" She pointed off to the side where the normal cars belonging to the normal visitors of the hospital parked.

"Yeah, but this is the better view."

"I know. I want to try and get near Ratchet, and I don't want anyone to see me." She had a plan. Not a very good one, but if it worked out, they would have the exclusive story.

Jim turned a searching look on her. The grizzled scruff on his jaws and chin only accentuated the lines in his face. "You going soft on me? Spent too much time with the aliens, and now you think that they are nice?"

She tried to stare him down, but wound up looking away. "Isn't that why we did that report about the government torturing them?"

"I did it to get back at a bureaucratic nightmare that doesn't see people, only numbers and dollar signs." His words held years of bitterness and defeat.

She turned to him, her shoulders squared. "I want to do this for a couple of people that have given up a lot and don't deserve to be treated like freaks."

Jim turned the key and the V8 underneath the hood roared to life. He backed out of their parking place and slowly headed to the other side of the building. "Nice to see that you finally joined the human race. After five years, I'd about decided that you were nothing more than a walking ad for Macy's."

"Shut up, Jim."

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **These chapters are taking longer and longer to write. It isn't the plot or the characters, it is RL. This year is eating my lunch. I apologize for not being able to keep up my old posting schedule of once a week or once every other week. Now, the chapters will be posted when they are posted. Good news is that the next couple are almost complete. XD

Summerlin Hospital exists and is in Las Vegas; I have never been there and don't know any of the doctors. I am only borrowing the name. Wolfie, after searching the online job postings for hospital security guards, I was right. $10 and hour appears to be the starting salary. I did base the security guards in this story after a couple that my dad threatened to "whip" when they denied him access to my mom after her accident. His words were something like, "You can't stop me, I'll rip the doors off this hospital and shove them up your ass". Yeah, they backed off.

If anyone cares I have a portrait of Velocity on my DA page. Http:// . com/art/ Velocity-2-0-Finished-136961528 Just cut paste and remove the spaces.

To **Ladyofthebookworms** – Thank you. Mirage is very smug and keep an eye on him. Actually, Simmons is the only human character I really really like. Twisted, I know. To **phoenix13** – OMG you almost made me spew my coffee with a mental image of a puffed up Prime floating around. XD. Sadly, Mirage will be the least Of Velocity's problems. To **k2rduk** – Your welcome, it was fun putting together the list. I am a car nut, so only the best will do for altmodes. Mikaela is around 6 months along. I had one child born an month and a half early, he was in the NICU with breathing issues, the other boy came one month early and was fine. With preemies, a couple of weeks can make all the diffference. To **Kaida Tori **– He already has. To **Ford B** – thank you. To Falling Right Side Up – Thank you. I hope to use Velocity to dispel some of the cringe factor that OCs have. I try to give the bots the depth that I think that they have. They aren't just big hunks of tin. To** Library Drone SAR** – Someone needs to feel for Reggie, he is about to be in a whole heap of misery. Mirage will get his comeuppance.


	30. Chased

**Rating: **M for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, mech erotica, torture.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is a 2007 movie verse fic, NOT an ROTF fic.

Beta Read by Okamichan, Love-me-some-leggy-poo, and Okami-myrrhibis

_**XxxX**_

_**Chased**_

_**XxxX**_

Catherine squatted in the parking lot; her back pressed against the grimy, plastic hubcap of some cheap, sub-compact. She wiped her dirty gloves on her slacks; she wondered if the dry-cleaner would be able to remove the grease; they were Gucci after all.

She remained crouched, trying to stay out of sight. Turning, she balanced on her toes to peer over the dented, blue hood. Thirty feet away from her hiding place, sat a lime-green Hummer; beyond him reporters and cameras waited, like crocodiles on the shore. She ducked back down and looked around her. She needed a diversion, something to distract her peers so she could run over to Ratchet unnoticed.

Minutes passed and her thighs started to cramp. Catherine sat on the snow-speckled concrete; the cold leached through her pants, chilling her legs. Her numb hands rubbed her thighs, trying to knead the knots out of her muscles. She pulled the sleeve of her coat up, and glanced at her watch. Crap, she had been hiding behind the Festiva for a good twenty minutes.

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, and realized her butt was frozen, as were her fingertips and cheeks. The numb ache informed her that she either needed warmer clothes or to get out of the frigid weather. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she blew into them, hoping some of her warm breath would thaw her face. _At least when the frostbite sits in, I'm close to a hospital_, she thought.

Exhaling a cloud of mist that shone like a ghost in the unnatural lighting, she felt the first pangs of guilt. What had happened to her? What had changed within her? At what point had she decided that the aliens and the people around them were more than…news bits? That hounding and tormenting a pregnant woman just because she happened to be friends with giant, alien robots was…wrong. Neither Sam nor Mikaela had wanted to fall into the middle of an alien war, and both shunned the media as well as they could. They hadn't wanted the details of their lives splattered all over the newspapers. Weren't there enough pseudo-celebrities willing to whore themselves to the media to fill the papers and news programs?

Her god had always been the First Amendment. The right to tell all and keep the public informed, but what did the public really need to know about? While airing her special, she had omitted information that some of the Cybertronians were intergalactic perverts, and that the Autobots argued amongst themselves almost as violently as they fought their enemies, whom the government still contended were few and far between on Earth.

Yes, she believed that the public had a right to know, but in the last few weeks, she had started using restraint, not reporting all of the facts. She wondered if this made her a better reporter, or a worse one. At the moment, people she respected, a few she almost called "friend" stood beyond the barrier tape, calling out to the Autobot.

Question-filled shouts, whistles, a few derogatory names, intended to get a rise out of the alien, but for his part, Ratchet endured it all with silent dignity. "Hey. Hey, transformer. What's your name?" A crass question that hung in the air and echoed in her ears, no one ever won a Pulitzer with a question like that.

She turned and peeked over the hood of the little car again. Revulsion swelled within her. This wasn't journalism, this was blatant stalking. These people weren't journalists; they had sunk to the level of paparazzi.

She wondered how much money the pictures of Ratchet would fetch from the tabloids. Her thoughts trailed to the man that had sent her the text message. How much money had he charged to the other reporters for the tip? She knew why she had received the message; he had wanted to "tap her ass"…again. She shivered, revolted at the memory of a drunken lonely night she wanted to forget. She bet that at right this moment Charles was Xeroxing copies of Mikaela's medical files to sell to the highest bidder.

A smile tugged at her frozen lips. She bet that if the medic knew, he sure as hell wouldn't be sitting there so placidly. He'd be going ape-shit.

Images of a red smear filled her imagination, and determined her course of action. Suddenly, she didn't care if her peers saw her. Screw them. She felt the need for vengeance and Autobots came with heating.

Good reporters never exposed their informants, but she never considered Charles an informant. Others would black list her for this, any reputation she had would be destroyed, her boss might fire her, and she didn't care. They could all shove it; she wanted to be a part of something bigger, something more than the here and now.

Stiff, legs lifted her up. She shivered as the arctic air cut through her coat, chilling her even more. With her head held high and proud she walked the final distance to the Humvee's side. Fellow reporters stared at her, looks of confusion and curiosity on their faces. She made a fist with her cold fingers and rapped it on Ratchet's window.

The vehicle actually jerked, as if she had startled it. "What do you want?" snarled the disembodied voice.

Keeping her posture stiff, to show a confidence she didn't feel, she said, "I want to talk. Open up and let me in, I'm freezing." Giving into need, she wrapped her arms around her and huddled next to the ambulance. Her teeth chattered hard enough that she thought that she might chip them. A tingle swept along her entire body; a feathery tickle she had felt once before with this mech. At that time she had thought that she had imagined it, but now she suspected that he did something to her.

Ratchet sighed. The door next to her swung open and warm air enveloped her. Catherine practically jumped into the cab of the Autobot. Shivering uncontrollably, she remained silent. She cupped her hands and blew into them, then rubbed her arms vigorously, repeating the cycle until her body thawed out. Finally, she felt capable of forming words without her teeth rattling. "What did you do to me, it tickled?"

"I merely scanned you. Harmless to most forms of organic life. Why did you sit so long behind that vehicle? You could have suffered from hypothermia."

She paused before answering. While a myriad of quasi-reasons came to mind, she chose a different tactic with the Autobot, the truth. "I was afraid that you wouldn't talk to me." Somewhere in the back of her mind, humiliation from being turned away scared her more than the backlash from what she was about to do.

Ratchet harrumphed. "I do not want to talk with you, but I could not allow you to freeze to death either."

Catherine sneered. "Fine, I get it. Do you have to be so blunt?"

"It saves time," the ambulance retorted.

Crossing her arms over her chest, partially in a petulant display, partially to get warm, the reporter huffed. Slumping down in the Autobot's seat she, pursed her lips together, and glanced around her. The inside of the medic appeared similar to any other vehicle she had ever seen, but there were a few differences. In the console, sat a screen, similar to a SatNav, but this one showed rows of alien letters scrolling by endlessly. Their hypnotic rhythm and soft green glow entranced the woman. Slowly, cautiously she reached out to touch the display. The ambulance rocked violently, effectively startling her.

"Do you find it acceptable for people, you barely know, to run their hands all over you?"

Reprimanded, Catherine pulled her hand back and tucked it in her lap,

"Again I will ask, 'why are you here?'" The sharp words hung in the air; accusations without accusing.

"I wanted to see how Mikaela and the baby were doing."

The Ambulance's engine turned over, a deep warning growl that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and brought to mind a dog, dead for over a decade, that had bit her when she tried to touch one of its puppies. She pressed her back into seat. Small electrical charges popped and crackled over the interior of the ambulance. "Why? So you can get an exclusive interview. So you can tell the world all about it?"

Her eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "No! I ask as a friend. Nothing you tell me here will be repeated. This…," she waved a hand, "all of this is 'off the record'."

Ratchet snorted.

The reporter's cheeks burned, frustrated and embarrassed at the medic's attitude. "You might have a hard time believing this, but I only have their best interest at heart. And I might have the means to call the other reporters off. Something to convince them to leave."

"Can you do that?" snapped the Hummer. "Do you have the means to make them leave what is, essentially, public property? To stop their harassment when your courts cannot control them?"

Trounced by the logic and of an eons old alien, she dropped her head in defeat. He had called her bluff and she had nothing to back it up. Fidgeting slightly, she picked at the cuticle on her thumb. "No," she mumbled, "I can't do any of that, but I can tell you who leaked the information to the media".

Ratchet sat, still and silent, only the hum from his heaters sounding within his cab. Snowflakes, tiny and delicate, landed on his window, only to melt and disappear. Long minutes stretched by and Catherine wondered if the robot had blown a transistor or something.

The ambulance shifted under her. "What do you want in return?" he asked.

_**XxxX**_

The fifth floor window gave him an unhindered view of the antics in the parking lot, and that was all that they were. Antics. Cumbersome, tiresome attempts at notoriety, built on the expense of others. Below him sat an alien, painted chartreuse and red, a proclaimed medic from across the stars, surrounded by members of the media. People who make their living telling the world about the woes of others: vultures, leaches. Their lamps all turned towards the Autobot, turning the night into a farce of the day.

What did a robot truly think and feel? The transformer called Ratchet, appeared to be concerned for Mrs. Witwicky and the baby, but could the mech grasp the concept of life. He said all the right things, expressed all the right emotions, but still the doctor wondered. These…Cybertronians seemed to pick up human idioms and customs with surprising ease. Massive, metal sponges that learned, then regurgitated what they knew. How much of their behavior was an act? How much truth did their words hold? His hand wrapped around the pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket, stress tempted him to smoke another, even though he had reached his limit for the day.

Cynicism made him question the honesty of others, too many years of dealing with people. Too many times of seeing the dark underside of families, half grown children having children of their own, newborns struggling to survive because mom couldn't stop shooting up. But he had also seen the best in humanity. A boyfriend, stepping up to raise a baby that wasn't his. The honest, undeniable love when parents look at their children the first time. He wanted to believe that the alien in the parking lot below him might be as honorable, intelligent, caring and concerned as he appeared. If he was, then perhaps humans could benefit from having these creatures living among them. He just didn't know.

Looking up from the well-lit scene below him and into the darker skies, he saw his reflection. The man looking back at him wore the same clothes, had the same short, curly, black hair with grey flecked through it. Haggard and haunted, the dark eyes showed weariness, the hard lines of long hours.

He didn't need this. His patients didn't need this, and Mrs. Witwicky certainly didn't need this, she had enough to worry about. The medications he had administered to her stopped the contractions for now, but not without possible risks. The NICU had been alerted in case she went into labor again; ready to care for a baby entering the world months too soon.

Glancing down at the Autobot sitting in the parking lot, pinned by the harsh lights, Dr. Brunhick hoped the mech fully understood. The odds were in the child's favor, but there was always the possibility that something could go wrong, something no one foresaw, a complication that turned the routine into a tragedy. Had he been dealing with another human doctor, he would have decided that Ratchet's gruff, terse demeanor served as an act, a way to hide a caring soul from undue pain. Since he couldn't say what went on in the metal minds of the Cybertronians, he assumed nothing. No need to anthropomorphize a machine.

Turning away from the window, he strolled down the long hall. He nodded a greeting to the guard sitting outside of Mrs. Witwicky's room, a simple precaution to keep reporters from trying to sneak in. Reaching the nurses' station, he picked up a random patient's chart and skimmed over it.

He had other women to care for.

_**XxxX **_

She sat stunned at the sight before her. The meaty side of a fisted hand pounding against her dash brought the femme out of her trance.

"Go go go!" Simmons screamed, his voice echoing in her interior.

The man's words forced her into action. Without thinking, she reversed gears and gunned her engine as hard as she could. She shot backwards down the shoulder of the interstate, kicking up loose gravel; she ignored the complaining horns from the other drivers. She knew that her backwards flight only added to the level of chaos, but she didn't care. The humans would have to fend for themselves, she had bigger problems.

The Decepticon started running towards her, heavy legs moving with lumbering purpose. Every step ripped the asphalt open, as if it were made of brittle plaster. His optics locked onto her, his target clear. A small car skidded and slammed into the massive flier's legs, but that didn't slow or trip him. He bent, plucking it off the concrete and hurled it into the distance as if it were a child's toy.

She continued to speed backwards, her mind frozen in fear. Defensive maneuvers, and offensive strategies didn't exist, she couldn't recall a single lesson or word of advice from the other mechs. Panicking, she did the only thing she could think of: she ran.

Tightening the set-belt around her passenger, she didn't slow as she locked her back tires. The momentum carried her heavier front end around, slamming her into a truck. Velocity didn't pause. Fear drove her forward, and she didn't dare pause long enough to back up and pull herself out of the wreckage, so she pushed through it. Turning her tires, she shifted into gear, and accelerated as hard as she could. Her tires spun and smoked as she scrapped along the length of the larger vehicle. She tore apart the side of the truck as she fled, tearing and buckling the weaker metal, carving out an escape path.

Weaving through the oncoming traffic, she refused to slow. With her horn blaring and flashing her lights, she tried to warn the other drivers, but most of them were too fixated on the Goliath towering above them to notice her. To avoid a head-on collision with a wrecker, she shot to left, and narrowly avoided sideswiping a sport car. Laughter drifted to her audios, the fucking 'Con was enjoying the show.

"Call in the big guys!" Simmons shouted.

"I'm trying," Velocity snarled, her voice tight with strain. She screamed repeatedly over the Autobot comm. lines. She hit every frequency she could think of in an attempt to call for help. No one responded back. No one acknowledged her, not even Optimus.

Skidding helter-skelter around the other vehicles, she realized she was alone, alone and away from the safety of the base and the other mechs. Confronted by an enemy larger and more powerful than her, fear squeezed her soul, tight fingers strangling her. Tires bit into the asphalt, as she pushed her self harder. She had to get away.

"Hold on Reggie," she warned, as she hit the center median. Her undercarriage bottomed out, painfully slamming into the desert earth, and for a millisecond, leaving her high centered. Her tires spun freely in the air before she found traction and shot down the rough no-man's-land between the North and South sides of the highway. She had the wide expanse of rock and rubble to herself, but she had traded speed and maneuverability for it. Bouncing violently, her internal HUD flickered, sensors flashing minor damage reports; she wasn't made for off road.

"You still with me?" she asked her soft, fleshy companion.

Simmons only grunted.

A quick scan showed the Decepticon still followed. The femme found a lull in the traffic, she aimed for the opposite side of the road. Her tires hit blessed concrete once more; she gunned her engine, leaving smoking trials of alien rubber behind her. She couldn't fight the seeker, and if he took to the air she couldn't outrun him, either, but she refused to stand still. If he wanted to kill her, she intended to make it as difficult as possible for him.

Alien engines roared, shattering her thoughts. The seeker had transformed back into the fighter jet and shot past her, his underside only feet from her roof line. Angling skyward, he banked, and then disappeared into the clouds.

Simmons collapsed in her seat, his heart pounding, pulsing in the slick sweaty hands locked on her steering wheel. "What the fuck was all of that about?"

Velocity slowed, keeping pace with traffic as she scanned for the seeker. She couldn't locate him. "I have no clue."

Her pump pounded rapidly. Fans deep within her body hummed as they attempted to suck the winter air through her intakes and across her manifold. She wanted to stop and rest, to transform to her root mode and collapse on the hard, cold ground. "Help me keep watch."

"I thought you aliens, had all sortsa tech? Sensors and thing-a-ma-'bobs to keep track of each other."

Velocity didn't like the direction this conversation was going. "_They _do. I'm not sure how all of it works and usually ignore it

She tensed waiting for Reggie's comment.

"You don't know how to use your tech." Simmons threw his hands in the air. "Great, we are being chased by a murderous, giant, robot, and I have to put my life in the hands of the one robot that can't even find him." The man huffed. "Did you ever think that you might need to know how to use your…," he waved a hand at her, before collapsing back into the seat. "At least tell me you can contact the Autobots."

She paused, trying to decide how to phrase an answer "I can't reach them. There is something wrong with the comms."

"We are screwed."

"We are not screwed," she snapped. The truth in his words scared her, but dammit, she refused to let him know. "One Decepticon and you're all doom and gloom. What happened to Mr. Big-Tough-Federal-Agent?"

The big, tough federal agent kicked the underside of her dash, but wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.

Moving at exactly the speed limit, she tried to stay within a loose pack of vehicles, just another car on the road and nothing of interest. Every mile marker she passed put her that much closer to Ratchet. She hated admitting that she wanted to hide behind his puke green mass, but she did. He represented tangible safety, and would know how to handle the Decepticon.

Simmons shifted, turning around in his seat. "Uh oh."

Instantly Velocity started scanning. "'Uh oh', what?" Nothing showed on her sensors. Nothing at all. No cars, no road, she might as well have been driving in a void for all the information she received. She sped up a little, but not enough to attract the attention of the police.

Simmons twisted farther around. "That car just turned around on the median, right after you passed it."

"Shit! Did you see it? What did it look like? Was it a cop?"

"I have no clue what it was. Some of us can't see in the dark!" He stayed turned around, facing backwards looking out her rear window.

"Shit," she repeated. She intentionally didn't mention that her advanced sensors weren't working, hoping that the problem was nothing more than a wire that came lose when she went off-roading, and she didn't want to think about the alternative. Opening all of the comm. lines she sent another signal, nothing complicated, just a ping with one word, "Help."

Only static crackled back at her.

Reggie stiffened, his fist thumped on her headrest. "There it is. I see the headlights, he's coming up fast."

Velocity down shifted to build torque, and then accelerated. Popping into top gear, she shot forward. Swerving around a semi, she pulled between the two lanes of traffic, creating her own path.

The car moved around traffic behind her, easily keeping pace with her. "Do you see a driver?"

Simmons turned to face forward and flopped in her seat. Grabbing the seat belt, he pulled it tight. "Nope."

"Double shit," she snarled.

She pushed herself harder, zipping around the other vehicles, cutting off the other drivers, trying desperately to get away. Her pump thumped furiously and her temperature rose from the exertion.

Simmons pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, flipping it open. "No signal."

"I figured as much." Velocity darted in front of a truck and slammed on her brakes, forcing the vehicle to swerve to avoid hitting her and cut off their pursuer. "I think they are jamming us."

"When were you going to tell me this," Simmons snapped.

She accelerated, pulling away from the semi. "I hoped I didn't have to." Her volume dropped, as energy was re-routed to her engine, evidence to the strain her systems endured running this hard.

The Decepticon appeared from behind the big rig, using the soft shoulder, he pasted the larger vehicle, and rapidly closed the distance between them. Low and sleek, the silver mech's altform looked like the epitome of excess and sophistication. His wheels threw out gravel and dirt from the road's shoulder. "Surrender," boomed darkly.

"Fuck you," shouted Simmons raising his hand and flipping his middle finger at the alien.

The Decepticon roared and swung sideways, intent on slamming into her. Velocity braked and the mech shot across the highway. She took advantage of the opening and sped forward, less than fifty miles from Ratchet and back up. She wanted the medic to slice this bastard open so she could then punt his spark chamber into the next state.

The mech caught up to her again, but this time he hung back, following her, but not getting close. What could he be up to? What was he planning?

An intersection lay ahead of her, meeting another smaller road that disappeared into the blackness of the desert. Only a couple of street lamps marked the place, Las Vegas shone beyond it; a beacon in the night. A welcoming harbor of civilization from the lonely, hard land that surrounded it. She was almost there.

A whistle pierced her audios, the shriek of an object rapidly losing altitude. Dread gripped her soul, tight fingers of icy fear curled in her. "No," she whispered. She was so close.

A knife-wedge cut through the sky ahead of her, and seeker fell to Earth. He landed and concrete shattered under his feet.

Despair and frustration screamed in her soul; sandwiched between the enemy with nowhere to go, she couldn't fight them.

In the sodium glow of the street lamps, the mech before her pointed at her, and his arm transformed into a cannon, the ominous glow lighting up the area. She revved her engines, at almost two-hundred and eighty miles an hour she aimed straight for the flyer. Ignoring her passenger's protests she focused on the road underneath her. Slamming on her brakes, dark lines of rubber marked her path. Tires barked, threatening to loose contact with the asphalt, she turned her wheel, taking the corner sideways, and at a speed impossible for a normal car. She fishtailed before regaining control, and accelerated into the Nevada night.

Behind her, the mech followed suit, but at less dangerous speeds, and somewhere above a seeker circled, keeping watch.

_**XxxX**_

Fear. Hopelessness. Confusion.

The whisper of powerful emotions assaulted him. Nebulous vapors that twisted his spark, torturing it with their cruel, ghostly touch.

The Prime assaulted the shield that separated them. He clawed and pounded at it; focusing all of his attention on destroying the barrier. She needed him and nothing would stop him from reaching her.

_**XxxX**_

The semi in front of him suddenly swerved erratically, and then hit the brakes. Tires smoked and squealed on the concrete, momentum and physics worked together, pushing the trailer carrying Cosmos forward.

Prowl locked his brakes and instructed the rest of the convoy to fall back. None of them could act until the Prime either regained control or jack-knifed. ::Prowl to Optimus Prime.::

The great diesel roared; raw power pushed it forward, pulling the trailer straight.

::Prowl to Optimus Prime.::

His leader sped up, exceeding the posted speed limit. The tactician revved his engine, pulling alongside of the Prime. Hitting his lights and sirens, he yelled over the comm. lines, ::Prowl to Optimus Prime!::

::We are turning around,:: the Prime announced, his words hard and tight.

Prowl controlled the urge to shiver, as the larger mech's electrical field touched his own. He stayed cruising beside Prime. ::Sir, for what reason? If we turn around, we will be breaking our engagement with the human government.:: He modulated his tone to hide the concern that fluttered in his spark.

The Prime ignored his question ::Optimus Prime to Alpha Base, who is on duty?::

A softly spoken drawl greeted them over the general comm. line. ::Hound to Prime. It's just me, and 'Jumper at home, Ironhide has the rest out on the target range playing with… testing some of the human's new weapons.::

Prowl waited, listening closely. Something had the Commander in a state of near panic. Long vorns of working next to the Prime taught him patience, but he couldn't plan and strategize with nothing more than a handful of inconclusive data.

::Has there been any Decepticon activity in the vicinity?::

Prowl almost stalled out. What would make the Prime ask such a question? They had protocols in place, coded messages to send to every Autobot on Earth if their enemies attacked.

::Nothing, sir. What do you require?:: Gone was Hound's jovial tone, instantly replaced with the seriousness of a seasoned warrior.

They continued down the road. Prowl noted that the rest of the small convoy had caught up and was keeping pace. The humans chatted on their radios, trying to figure out what was happening, and Smokescreen kept the humans informed as best he could.

It took several seconds before the Prime answered. ::Find Velocity. _Now_.:: The last word held enough force to make any mech cringe, and Hound never responded back. He did not have to; Prowl knew that the tracker would not contact them again until he had located the femme.

Pieces started clicking into place, but the entire picture remained a scrambled mess in the tacticians mind. He rapidly, arranged and rearranged scenarios in his processor, trying to deduce what, had most highest chance for occurrence. He also watched his commander. The semi stayed straight and true in his lane of traffic, the erratic behavior from earlier gone as if it never happened. He opened a private channel, wanting advice. ::Prowl to Ratchet.::

Static crackled in his audios.

::Prowl to Ratchet.::

More static.

"Slag it!" The words slipped out of his vocals, clear above the hum of his engine.

::Report,:: commanded Prime.

Prowl paused a fraction of a second before answering. ::I attempted to contact Ratchet, and received interference.::

Cosmos broke across the lines before the Optimus could respond. ::Sir, I can fly faster than you can drive. Un-ground me and I can start scanning for both Ratchet and Velocity from a high altitude, covering more area than…::

::Negative,:: frustration colored Optimus's command. "We are pushing the tolerance levels of the human government as it is.::

Prowl, weighed the options presented to them. He took into account every resource the mechs and humans had to offer, and then addressed his superior. ::Sir, I have a suggestion. Cosmos has made a valid point. Flying is much faster than driving. We should proceed to Fort Dodge and then allow the humans to fly us back to our base. It will save us several cycles that would other wise be wasted on the road.::

Optimus responded instantly. ::Arrange it.::

_**XxxX**_

Hound ran down the hallway, his footsteps ringing out against the hard flooring, announcing his hasty pace. Rounding a corner, he collided with Mirage, knocking the smaller spy flat on his aft. He didn't stop to help the mech to his feet; he shrugged and offered a hasty, "sorry" then continued on. The glitch was supposed to be with Ironhide.

The calm quiet of the base seemed totally at odds with the harshly spoken command that Optimus had given him. A command filled with fear, worry and a small, undefined tone. 'Find Velocity.' Two words that bounced around the interior of Hound's cranium like a human ball. Two words that gave the tracker more information than a data download; they confirmed his suspicions and brought secrets into light. Quick glances, whispered words, brief touches, all orchestrated to fulfill needs with out alerting the rest. It was so obvious, He wondered who else had noticed, probably Smokescreen, nothing escaped that mech's observant gaze. He figured it out though, he didn't feel the need to gloat; he wouldn't say a word to the others. He understood the Prime's need to keep his relationship hidden.

Skidding around the corner Hound came to an abrupt stop in the rec room. Cliffjumper sat with his back to the door, his optics locked on the TV as he blew away undead humans in a video game. Hound suppressed his revulsion with the reminder that zombies were nothing more than mythical creatures and the humans considered them comical, scary and cannon fodder all at the same time.

"Come on, you're with me." He didn't wait for his partner to respond, but turned on his heel and headed back down the hall.

The sound of a running mech caught his audios, just before Cliffjumper appeared at his side. "What's up?"

Hound glanced at the red bot. He frowned to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Optimus wants us to find Velocity, and Prowl wants us to find Ratchet."

The mech shrugged. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard, they left together and Ratchet logged the co-ordinates of his destination with Teletraan."

Hound smiled, more because it was expected than to express actual joy. Unease chewed at him, 'Jumper hadn't heard the strain in the Prime's voice. "That's why I keep you around, shorty. You make my job easier."

_**XxxX**_

"Did you see that sign? I think we are in Arizona."

"Put your seatbelt back on." For almost two hours, nearly one Cybertronian cycle, the silver Decepticon had chased them, pushing her farther and farther into the desert. Farther and farther from civilization and Ratchet.

The silver mech and his partner drove her on a twisted, convoluted path.

Time and time again, the 'Cons forced her to change course: off the interstate and onto secondary roads, then back onto the highway only to once again to veer off at some random juncture. She thought that they were heading east at the moment, but that was all. This time of the year, Orion should be to her south, the Pleiades to the east and Cygnus to the west, but without their familiar guidance, she could only guess. The thick clouds overhead hid the heavens from her, and she didn't dare to stop to transform so she could engage her full optical array to see past them to the stars beyond..

Around Las Vegas, past cities and small settlements. She contemplated stopping in a town for help, but discarded the idea, afraid that any action would only get innocent people killed, like that police officer.

They had topped a hill going well over one hundred miles and hour, and she passed the patrol car before registering its presence. Blue lights flashed twice before the seeker dropped onto the car, like a hawk on a field mouse. The crunch of metal and the plaintive wail of the dying sirens would haunt her memories for a long time.

Simmons had also witnessed the destruction. Turned round backwards in her seat he made an animal noise: part whimper, part choking grunt. It was a lesson learned; the Decepticons would obliterate any humans that got in the way. On she ran, afraid to stop**;** caught in a trap she didn't know how to get out of.

She saw the road ahead, and didn't know where it went, but it appeared to be a decent option, not that she had any others. Tired of the 'Con on her aft, she gunned her engines and took the turn at a high speed. Not that she could out run him at this point, he had made it clear that he greater stamina than her.

Leaving the blacktop, her tires threw up clouds of dust from the dirt road. She waited for the seeker to land in front of her, forcing her to turnaround, but he never showed. The Silver mech stayed behind her, coursing through the night.

Fear gave over to anger. Velocity hated this game they played with her. This twisted session of cat and mouse, this… her HUD flashed a warning before her reserve tanks switched on. Then what they were doing dawned on her, the Decepticons were wearing her out; running her into the ground so that she would be weak, unable to fight back, and they were doing a damned good job of it.

Rage flared in her spark, helping to fuel her body. She refused to play into their hands, to play by their rules. She hated them for making her run like a coward, knowing that she couldn't stand against them. She had wasted too much time and energy, letting them chase her in the dark, like some prank turned deadly. She thought of the man sitting inside her, and realized she didn't have many options, neither of them did. Perhaps she could…

Something large and brown, bound in front of her headlights. Reflexes took over and she slammed on her brakes, the loose dirt under her tires offered no traction and she slid out of control. The world spun in a crazy circle, as she tried to correct her over-steer.

Simmons screamed and gripped her steering wheel tightly. He stomped on her brake pedal, a feeble attempt of help.

Finally, she stopped, rocking on her struts. She faced the way they had come, bloody bits of animal splattered the road around her. The silver mech lay on his side, about fifty from the road. She had no clue how he ended up like that, but she didn't care. Revving her engine, she zipped by the slowly transforming Decepticon, wanting to put distance between him and them.

Simmons punched her roof in elation. "Yes! Take that you fucker!"

Hope flickered in her chest. Alone save for her friend, she pushed herself faster, rapidly consuming her meager reserves. They had hundreds of miles to cover before she could collapse in exhaustion.

She came to the intersection and slid sideways onto the blacktop. Opening her throttle, she reached top speed, flying along a lonely road in the dark. The dashes of the centerline blurred into a solid line and she actually relished the cold wind whistling over her intakes, cooling her overheated, stressed engine. The sensation helped offset the grumble of an empty fuel tank, and the knowledge that a seeker still circled above them.

Her tires ate the miles, and she followed the winding roads up and over the strange geology that formed the Southwest. Gorges and dry valleys gave way to towering canyon cliffs and rocky out-croppings. The snow had stopped and but the bitter cold remained along with the clouds. Had the situation been different, she might have enjoyed the desolate vista that spread out before her, but the threat of the Decepticons catching up to them colored her opinion of the landscape. Keeping her lights off she tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Normally, she would have reveled in the exhilaration of it all: the way that the road rose and dropped with the natural changes in the land, the g-forces pulling at her when she took a corner sideways and the tingle of power that hummed through her wires. There should have been a trilling surge as she followed the road, only a few hundred feet from a drop-off.

Twin lights bobbed in front of her, another vehicle traveling the solitary road. The lights disappeared, as the road curved around a hill, hiding them from view. A few seconds later the lights reappeared, closer and coming towards her.

Velocity felt a twist of longing when she realized what type of vehicle neared them. "It's a semi," she informed her companion.

He nodded. "Most likely a trucker trying to find a place to dump a dead hooker."

"You are warped."

Quickly she neared the truck, and figured that she would pass it before the driver even knew she was there.

The semi loomed only a few yards away in the other lane, the distance between them disappearing rapidly. Suddenly, it swerved, tires howling over the pavement, and plowed into her side. Metal crunched and crumpled, bending in ways it wasn't supposed to go. The truck pushed her toward the canyon's edge as though not even realizing she was there. The massive engine roared in her audio, drowning out the sound of her tires shrieking for traction, counter pointing her terror. Pavement dropped away, and rocks sprayed out from under her tires. Deep grooves marked her path, and then the dirt crumbled beneath her. Nothing worked, and still the edge drew closer and closer. Frantic to get away, she engaged her transformation cogs.

Too late.

The ground disappeared beneath her, leaving only empty air. She teetered only for a moment, before gravity caught her and flipped her down the incline.

Rolling over and over and over, she lost all sense of up and down. Sight and sound came as disorienting snapshots, before everything offlined.

_**XxxX **_

Pain racked her body and her systems reset one by one. She lay on her roof, tires slowly spinning. Her engine clicked and ticked as it cooled. Alarms and warnings lit up her HUD, but it took her processor a few seconds to catch up so she could remember what happened.

"Reggie, get out." Static crackled form her vocal processor.

The human moaned and moved sluggishly. Weak hands fought with the release on her seatbelt. She helped as best she could, opening the clasp for him. The man collapsed, against her roof and lay still.

Fluid dripped from her dash, soaking into the liner on her roof. "Reggie, I need you to get out now."

Simmons rolled, lying against her door; he grabbed the handle. Velocity opened her door and the man fell onto the cold, ground. With agonizingly slow movements, he dragged himself free of her. His foot barely cleared her interior before she transformed. Metal ground against metal as warped armor screamed in protest to the movements.

The shifting complete, she knelt on her hands and knees, too disoriented to stand. Turning her head she looked at Simmons. He had made it to his feet, but held his right arm tight against his chest, staring at something above and behind her. Backing away, he glanced at her, meeting her optics. She didn't like the fear his eyes held.

Straightening up, pain exploded in her side, her ground her dental plates together. On her knees, arms slack at her side, she swayed in the wind for a few seconds. Pulling herself together, gathering her strength, she prepared to stand. She glanced behind her.

The massive mech stood on the cliff above them. Just stood there, red optics blazing at her, but made no movements to follow her into the ravine.

Looking around she noticed that she and Simmons had fallen into a gorge. A dry riverbed carved out by millions of years of floods and runoff. A place of overhangs, shallow caves and crevasses. A place to hide a human.

Shifting her weight, she pulled one leg up, so that she balanced on one taloned foot and one knee. Bracing her hands on the ground, she raised her aft into the air. Shuttering her optics, she begged for her body to continue functioning, just a little longer. Like an Olympic sprinter at the pistol start, she rocketed forward. The femme didn't slow, but scooped the special agent up as she passed him. She clutched him to her chest, as a parent fleeing from danger would hold a small child.

Rocks tumbled behind her, their sound echoing in the canyon. A Cybertronian curse rang after her, as she ran into the night.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **In case someone out there is interested some of the roads are real and some are completely fictitious. XD I have happily played with a couple of the distances for my own needs.

I would like to thank everyone that has placed my works on their favorite and alert lists. Thank you.

To **Okami-chan **- Um, Saturn Sky's don't have any ground clearance. They sit really low and I wouldn't want to try to go over a curb in one. Yes, that was a small shout out to Captain Picard. To **Kiba-The-Life-Guardian** – Thank you. The labor itself rarely "kills" babies. Typically, they are unable to breathe or digest food properly, and they lack a layer of protective fat that helps regulate the temp of their bodies. Basically, the just aren't done baking yet. To **Thephoenixqueen** – LOL. You are partially right, but I won't tell you which part. To **Starfifre201** – Welcome aboard! Thank you for enjoying. You need to read the first fic, and it will help explain who the femme is. I will warn you, finding Salvation was my first attempt at writing fanfic in a very long time and it shows. To **Novamyth** – O_o Um...you will just have to wait and see who rescues who. To **BleedmetoINSANITY **– LOL Thank you. Here is your update. I hope it was worth the wait.

To **everyone** – Have a wonderful holiday season, and I'll see all ya'll after the New Year.


	31. Cornered

**Rated: **Mfor adult themes: language, violence, character death, mech erotica, torture.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is a 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

This is my first chapter where I am attempting to beta myself. Okamichan quickly looked this over to give me something to compare my own beta-ing to, but she didn't offer her normal deep, brutal and honest beta. Cookies for those who find what I missed. XD

_**XxxX**_

_**Cornered **_

_**XxxX**_

"… But isn't there a doctor at your base?" Catherine struggled to make sense out of the conflicting information Ratchet had given her.

"Yes," agreed the Autobot. "There is, but he specializes in trauma, not obstetrics and certainly not neo-natal care. Also, we do not have the equipment required to sustain preterm fleshlings."

She shook her head. "I still don't get it. As advanced as you claim to be, how hard is it to build what you need?"

The ambulance sighed, and then sank down a couple of inches. "For a human femme, you know very little about caring for the young of your species."

Catherine jerked, the feminist warrior within her instantly raged. She leaned forward, her finger jabbing the empty air. "You sexist jerk, how dare you insinuate that…"

Ratchet raised his volume, drowning her out. "I was merely pointing out that human femmes typically care for and nurture the offspring. Common sense would dictate that all human females to be educated in those regards."

She crossed her arms over her chest and squared her shoulders. "Oh, so that's all women are good for? Having babies? Being barefoot and pregnant? I guess you don't think that we have anything to contribute to society? Is that how you treat the femmes on Cybertron, just using them to care for baby robots?" The ludicrous image of tiny little robots in diapers filled her head, and the reporter realized that no one knew how these aliens reproduced, if at all. So little was known about their lives, and she was in the perfect situation to find out. The need to scoop a story started to cool her anger.

The Autobot huffed. "Of course not! The femmes stood beside the Autobots and sacrificed everything to aid us. Many of the Prime's unit leaders were femmes. Without their bravery and cunning, we couldn't have stood against Megatron as long as we did."

Catherine didn't miss the note of sadness; the melancholy tone in the mech's voice tugged at her heartstrings. He sounded so lonely. She laid her hand on his dash. "You have lost someone close, haven't you?"

The Hummer shook off her touch. "Of all the ridiculous... No, I have not lost my bondmate. He is smart enough not to get his aft slagged."

The reporter's eyes widened as she sucked air in surprise. _He? Bonded? Ratchet?_ "Like married bonded? Your... mate is a 'he'? Cybertronian's have gay marriage?" she yammered, images of headlines scrolled across her mind's eye.

The ambulance moaned, a suffering noise full of aggravation. "Just once, I wish that humans could think beyond their limited scope of experiences. Look, Miss. Cutter. Cybertronians do not have sexes, as you define them, nor do we have a concept as ludicrous as marriage. Our society does not require a public ceremony to establish the validity of a relationship. We bond for the purpose of spending the rest of our lives with someone we respect and care for. It is viewed as a private decision between individuals and ideally, shouldn't be influenced by society or anything else."

The Autobot had her complete attention, his sexist comments forgotten for the moment. "So, you only... bond for love?"

"If you insist on simplifying things that much, then yes."

"But if you don't have genders, then how do you reproduce? Do you build new robots?" She cringed when the word "robots" slipped from her mouth; it sounded so insulting to call Cybertronians "robots", when clearly they were so much more.

If the medic found offense at her faux pas, he didn't show it. "I said we do not have sexes, genders are a different issue entirely. As for creating new individuals, we only build the body to house the spark. A sentient spark can come from several sources. Sometimes a bonded pair produces a spark bud, the closest we have to offspring. The majority of the time though, the…" the medic paused. "Don't you have somewhere else that you need to be? Human femmes like to have their scalp filaments cleaned and trimmed, shouldn't you have yours tended to?"

She stared at the dash in front of her, the vicious retort died before it left her lips. She almost laughed once it dawned on her what the Autobot was doing. "I've got your number, mister. What are you not telling me? You are all chatty until you get close to telling me something important, then you insult me. Punch my buttons to distract me."

Catherine jumped at the loud knock on the outside of Ratchet's window. She glared at Jim through the glass, as she clutched her hand to her chest, trying to control her racing heart. She hated it when he startled her. "What do you want?"

The Autobot opened the door between them, the cold air cut into the warmth that had cocooned her. She pulled her coat around her.

If Jim felt the cold, he never showed it. Wearing nothing more than a flannel shirt and insulated vest, the man appeared to be right at home in the chill. "I've been trying to call you on your cell. One of this guy's fly-boy buddies landed in the middle of I95, taking out some tourists and causing one hell of a pileup.

Both she and the ambulance froze as they processed the information.

"When did this occur?" snapped Ratchet.

Jim scratched the stubble along his jaw line. "Rumor places it around an hour and a half to two hours ago. The people at the center of the pile up couldn't call out. It weren't until a cop made his way through the mess, and back out that, anyone knew about it. Apparently, not a single cell phone works out there, or around here." He held his phone up to show Catherine. "No bars."

"How did you hear about this?" she asked.

The cameraman shrugged casually, but his eyes glittered with a sly intelligence. "Heard about it from a couple of paramedics getting ready to head out there."

The ambulance's engine roared to life with a shudder. "Miss. Cutter, get out."

Catherine grabbed the seat belt, and pulled it across her body. "No. Nu-uh. No way. We have deal." She clicked the buckle, securing it. "I'm going with you."

The mech growled. "No you are not. I cannot guarantee your safety and if the Decepticon comes back…"

"That's my problem."

Jim gave her a guarded look. "Cat, perhaps you should listen to him, things could go south in a hurry. If these guys gotta duke it out, you'd just be in the way."

Catherine saw the concern in Jim's face. She looked out of the Autobot's windshield. The other reporters were busy packing and stowing their gear in a frenzied rush to leave. She assumed that her competition was racing each other to be the first to scoop the story of a Decepticon attack. Crossing her arms over her chest, she settled firmly into the seat. "No."

Jim raised his hands, palms out in surrender, and glanced at the ambulance.

Ratchet was not so easily cowed; the medic shook from side to side. "Get out. Velocity and Simmons would have taken that route back to the base. I need to respond, either could be injured."

Catherine reached out and tugged on the heavy door. Jim gave it a helpful push and she shut herself in the Autobot.

Her cameraman walked around the front of the Autobot. He squarely placed both hands on the Hummer's hood, his lips moving as he said something to the ambulance. Then Jim straightened and sauntered towards their news van.

Seconds crept by and Ratchet remained still.

"What did he say to you?" she asked the Cybertronian.

The ambulance slowly backed out of the parking spot. "Nothing that bears repeating."

Pensive silence shrouded them as Ratchet wove his way through traffic. Her mind was already piecing together her next couple of stories, and she made a mental note the have Jim pull all of the video they had on the Autobots, curious if it contained evidence of alien love affairs.

At Durango Frontage road, they hit a roadblock. The Las Vegas police had closed off the interstate, re-routed traffic to keep the situation from becoming worse and to discourage any macabre rubbernecking. Ratchet turned on his lights and sirens, the officer directing traffic waved the Autobot disguised as a rescue vehicle, round the barricade. They passed a competitor's news van. George from channel 12 stood on the side of the road, his back t the interstate as he spoke to the camera. Catherine smiled to herself and resisted the urge to wave.

"How far out are we headed?" she asked.

"I am unsure. There appears to be communications interference. Someone is jamming all signals, even Cybertronian ones." They merged onto an empty highway.

She frowned. "Who would do that?"

"The Decepticons. It is not an unusual strategy to block all communications once they have isolated a target." Apprehension carried in his disembodied voice, the cold disgust when he said "target" held infinite weight.

Catherine shivered. "Are you scared?" The reporter in her never stopped asking questions, digging for information to use later.

"Not for myself, but Mikaela, Agent Simmons, Velocity and you are under my protection. Everyone is spread out, and I cannot be all places at once. The Decepticons know this, and until I know what their intentions are, everyone is a potential target."

Catherine thought about the mechs words. "Why not just attack you?"

The ambulance continued unabated down the road. "Because their actions are not about mindless violence. The Decepticons strike with lethal efficiency. They do not waste energy and effort on simple, meaningless destruction. They have a plan that they are implementing. As far as we can tell, their numbers on Earth are still limited, and I have proven to be very difficult to terminate. I doubt they wish to sacrifice the mechs needed to accomplish my demise."

A soft, "Oh," escaped from her lips.

She looked out the window, and saw nothing. The black desert was obscured by the glare of Ratchet's lights reflecting on the windows. Alone, isolated on what was normally a busy stretch of road, the Autobot sped along faster than a normal ambulance driver would dare attempt.

She wondered if the Autobots felt frustration traveling at human speed limits, as if they were forced to stroll when they needed to run. She also wondered if that influenced how they viewed humans, unable to travel as fast without serious risk to life and limb.

They continued on in silence. She got the distinct impression that the Autobot's attention had turned elsewhere, forgetting her for a while.

She jumped when he finally spoke. "We will be approaching our destination soon. When I tell you to get out, you get out, and follow my every instruction. Stay with in visual range, your visual range. I cannot reach you on your mobile phone."

Catherine dug into her pocket to pull out her Blackberry. She turned the device over, and saw that it worked, but there wasn't a signal. "Yeah, Jim mentioned something about that."

"Yes. I am certain that the Decepticons have established a disruption in most forms of communication. My sensors do not work well in such an environment either, but I can compensate, your phone cannot."

The ambulance started to slow.

"Can't you break through it? Have some sort of way to… I don't know, defuse it?" She wasn't sure if she even knew what she wanted to say. Instead, she just dropped her useless cell into her pocket and pouted.

"No, I cannot. Hopefully, they are using a remote device; otherwise there will be a Decepticon in the area, and I will have to neutralize him, first."

A chill crawled up Catherine's spine.

In front of her, red and blue lights flashed chaotically in the distant darkness. Anxiety mixed with anticipation to produce an almost intoxicating sensation fueled by adrenaline, danger, death and one hell of a story. Her hands shook in her lap.

Bumping off the asphalt, Ratchet left the interstate, but continued onward, parallel to it. At first, only a few vehicles sat scattered along the road, then the congestion started. A double row of cars, parked bumper to bumper stretched for, what seemed like miles. She couldn't believe that this many people chose to wait instead of turning around and heading back to Vegas.

As they drove the sheer volume of cars increased. They were scattered haphazardly like toys dumped from a toy box. A few fortunate ones had skidded off the road and rested unscathed in the darkness, but others sat on the glass and metal strewn highway in various states of damage. A semi lay on its side; liquid from its ruptured tank covered the area, forming a glassy mirror on the ground. Further, along several cars, a couple of them flipped over and crumbled together in a mangled mess. An SUV rested on top of a small hatchback and they both sat silhouetted in the flickering flames of the fire that was consuming them. All over, people moved about. Some ran purposefully, medical supplies or backboards in hand, others with the shuffled gait of the dazed. Next to a fire truck, several survivors huddled under blankets, almost invisible in the shadows. It was a war zone, but not a single shot had been fired.

Surreal images, gruesome snapshots of pain and fear, seared themselves onto her mind. It brought back vivid images of Tranquility and the death that surrounded her during that battle. She could smell the ghostly hint charred flesh and blood; she shut her eyes against the memories.

Steadying herself, looked around and dove headlong into the present. She pulled a pen and a little notebook out of her pocket to scribble her thoughts down. The displays from Ratchet's dash offered barely enough light to see.

Ahead of her, the disaster appeared surreal, an apocalyptic vision. An untold number of vehicles crumpled together to form a twisted mass of metal. She couldn't tell where one car started or ended. How many people had died here or would die from their injuries? An ambulance sped by, its lights only added to the confusion and its sirens cutting through the thick silence inside the Autobot's cab.

She expected unadulterated carnage at the center of the pileup. Instead, she saw a large void, a shallow crater. Nothing but broken concrete, the jagged angles caught in the alternating red and blue lights of a police car that sat on the shoulder. A damned landscape that no one dared to enter

Ratchet stopped, his driver-side door swung open and the seatbelt retracted. "Out," he ordered.

Catherine didn't hesitate. She wrapped her coat around her and bailed. Her heels crunched on the desert sand, while behind her the ambulance shifted into a towering robot. The Autobot's appearance sent a surge of panic; screams and shouts filled the air. People ran for safety, ducking behind anything that seemed to offer shelter.

The mech strolled confidently to the barren crater, ignoring the commotion.

Nearby police officers pulled their weapons at the Autobot and sought cover. Several of them keyed their useless radios. They shouted to one another and to the Autobot. They ordered him to stop, but he paid little heed to them, and only glancing at one or two.

Ratchet dropped to one knee, and laid the palms of his enormous hands on the dirt. The medic then tilted his head slowly to the right then left as if listening intently. He shifted, and moved his hands to different locations. The Autobot repeated the procedure several more times.

Catherine moved to stand near a police officer, and he glared at her with suspicious eyes. "He is one of the nice ones, nice being a relative term," she offered with a sheepish grin.

The cop tightened his grip on the weapon he aimed at the Autobot. "Let's hope so," he muttered.

Ratchet flipped over enormous chunks of asphalt. He dug his hands into the ground under the road, searching. Within seconds, he found something, and pulled it free.

To Catherine, it resembled a gray, glowing crystal, but spidery legs stuck out at random intervals, and flailed alarmingly in the air. She wanted to get a better look at the alien device, the oddity that Ratchet had uncovered.

As if he read her mind, the Autobot carefully palmed the device, scrutinizing it. Then he slammed it to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his hand. Immediately, her blackberry chimed, informing her she had missed a call. The garbled chatter of dozens of police radios mixed with the bass beats from several different car stereos to produce a raucous noise, a mind-numbing calliope of instant sound. She hadn't even registered that human voices were the only noises in the night.

The medic turned his head to the northwest, and then stood. His optics focused on the desert horizon, not the road.

Catherine started to trot towards him, mindful of the debris and her spiked heels. Her coat whipped around her and she ignored the cops that shouted at her. At the Autobots feet, she looked up expectantly at him. "What is it?"

He looked at her, blue optics aglow. "We have company."

_**XxxX**_

Warnings flashed across her HUD nanoseconds before her legs gave out. She wrapped her hands around Simmons's body and held him away from her, trying to spare him from most of the impact, as she collapsed onto the rocky riverbed.

Her sensors onlined, and for a few seconds her world was static filled. As systems reset, the haze cleared and she focused on the world around her once more. Reggie laid sprawled on his back a couple of feet away. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest eased some of her fears. She didn't know how long she had been out, but the man appeared conscious.

Simmons rolled onto his, side and looked at her. His expression contained a mix of exasperation and contempt. A gash on his forehead wept dark blood, trailing over the line of his face. With ungainly movements, the agent made it to his feet, and wiped at the blood, trying to keep it out of his eyes. Staggered steps brought him next to her. He crouched in front of her face. "Get up."

The man's words sounded warbled, like a record player on the wrong speed. The night around them appeared darker; she couldn't see as clearly as before. Static danced at the edges of her vision. She slowly shuttered her optics, and they threatened to remain closed. Her body didn't want to move, systems started shutting down and she didn't try to stop them. She was done.

Pain sliced through her, a blinding flash that jerked her back into consciousness. She screamed in protest and her optics flashed on. Fury raced through her mind, the raw animal awareness that she needed to defend herself or try to escape the torture. She snapped her dental plates together and growled her vengeance. She twisted, searching for one foolish enough to attack her. He sat astride her hip, his hand buried deep in her side, and blue energon sparkled on his jacket.

"Thought that would get your attention. Now, get up!" Simmons pulled his hand free and slid off her. He held a fistful of wires; tugging on them, he brought her more pain.

She rolled into hands and knees, following the human that held the brutal leash to her insides. "I am going to kill you," she snarled.

"First you'll have to get up. We need to get moving, or did you forget about the nasty robots chasing us?" The man's sarcasm rankled her, but it cut through her clouded and confused mind.

She _had _forgotten about the "nasty robots".

Her fuel tanks were depleted, and what little energon swirled in her system, slowly trickled down her side from an impact wound. Her processor lagged, and she responded with sluggish movements. If it weren't for the man twisting her wires, she would have stalled out.

"Fuck you." To her it sounded weak, little more than a whimper.

Reggie's face held a look of fierce determination, but dark shadows circled his eyes. Simmons was running out of fight too. "Later. First, you need to get up." He carefully tucked the wires into the gap in her armor, and then backed away.

Several attempts to stand ended with her collapsing dizzy and more exhausted than before. Giving it one last try, she heaved herself up and wobbled alarmingly before she found her balance. Simmons simply nodded and started to walk further down the gully. She limped after him, counting the steps.

She placed one foot in front of the other, struggling to keep her balance on the lose rocks. The effort needed to focus on walking helped keep her mind blessedly blank. Simmons trudged along slower and slower, his face pinched with pain. His teeth chattered as he wrapped his coat tighter around him, shivering. She didn't want to think about her friend succumbing to hypothermia, freezing to death in the winter night, or the helplessness of not being able to prevent it. Thoughts of her own death didn't pester her either, only the need to continue forward registered in her processor. They were moving too slowly, and time was running out for both of them.

Another warning filled her Heads Up Display. Tottering sideways, she made a couple of desperate steps before she collapsed against the stony embankment, sliding down it to land on her aft. Rocks tumbled around her as the incline crumbled slightly under her weight.

Simmons walked towards her, his injured arm pressed against his chest. She could see the purple fingers curled inward, broken or smashed. "You look like shit," he informed her.

"Love you too," she sighed, and slumped against the earth, letting it cradle her.

He turned in a circle, looking around, and then he walked over to her and peered at the shattered armor on her side. Warm fingers gently ran along the uneven edges, avoiding the gaps he had exploited earlier. "You aren't... leaking anymore."

She blinked her optic shutters. "Auto repairs. The program automatically evaluates the damage and fixes the worst first. It's automated."

Simmons snorted. "Hence the term 'auto repairs'." He looked at her with an evaluating gaze then shook his head. "Help me up."

It took Velocity's processor a couple of clicks to understand what he wanted. The man had one foot on her hip, his hand on her shoulder. She held out her other hand for him to use as a step. Reggie used the edges in her armor like the rungs of a ladder. One handed, he scrambled upward until he stood on her shoulder, propped against the embankment, and looking over the edge. She tried to remain still, then wrapped her hand around his calf to steady him.

"I don't think they're following."

She cycled her vents. "They are out there. I can hear the seeker circling. They're just…"

He shifted. "'They're just' what?"

She shook her head, trying to find the errant thought again. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice hushed against the darkness. She slumped in defeat. With a sigh, she stared at the ground between her legs.

Simmons whistled and turned back to the desert. "You are losing it, aren't you? What do you think that they want?"

"I don't know." She let her head rest against the human, the warmth of his body radiating into her cheek-plates. She longed for the touch and comfort of someone else. "Maybe they are just bored and want to get their jollies in, so we are it."

"No, they want something. You heard that one. 'Surrender'. Why would they want us to surrender if they were just bored? Was it a general surrender, or does he want something specific surrendered? No, they're after something, but what? What would lure a pack of Decepticons out of hiding? What could be so important?"

Velocity off-lined her optics and let the darkness swim around her. "You're reading too much into this."

"No, they have something in mind. One thing I have learned is that the mech don't move unless it serves a purpose. Except for you, but then again, you aren't really one of them, are you?" The toe of a loafer tapped the side of her neck, pulling her back from unconsciousness.

She opened her optic shutters, the still darkness tempted a little too strongly. "Haven't you watched any movies? All of the nasty, space monsters have nifty catchphrases: 'assimilate', 'exterminate', 'surrender', 'attack', 'I'll be back'. Pick one."

A groan echoed down to her audios. "If you start rhyming, I'll shoot you myself."

"Don't waste the bullets. Just give me a couple of hours and I'll be permanently offline anyways."

Silence settled between them. Staring at an errant boulder near her ankle, Velocity wondered why she accepted her own death so easily. Maybe she had always known that she would never live to see old age, or maybe she just didn't really care. Either way, dieing didn't upset her much, thinking of the Here After did. She didn't have anywhere to go to. She wasn't human enough to go to Heaven, and the spirits that protected the Eternal Forest wouldn't let her in, she was too human. She was certain that the Cybertronian Matrix didn't have a place for her. Would she be a restless soul, cast out, haunting the Earth until it was engulfed by the Sun? She glanced up at Simmons. "Where do you think I will go when I die?"

Simmons glared at her with open disgust. He grabbed her audio horn with his good hand and gave it a shake. "Snap out of it. You aren't going anywhere; I need your optics. There is something in the distance."

Velocity sighed; Optimus would have indulged her in a discussion on the next life.

Before she could object, the man on her shoulder stepped onto her head, using her helm to hoist himself higher. Small rocks tumbled over her and plinked off her armor in clear bell tones. The human's weight disappeared. She assumed he climbed the rest of the way up the incline.

She leaned forward, and to the side, using her arms to support her weight, as she shifted to her knees. Braced against the crumbling slope, she pulled herself to a standing position. The noise created by the bouncing, rocks destroyed any chance they had at stealth, not that they were actually trying to be quiet.

She looked up, and saw that the lip of the gorge was level with her head, but in her current state, it might as well have been miles away. Slowly, she made her way to the top, hooking her talons on the dirt and hefting herself upward bit by bit. Her limbs shook with the strain and threatened to give out, sending her sliding back into the riverbed.

She found Simmons crouched down, looking off into the distance. "You could try to be quieter."

"Why? Their sensors will pick us up. What is so important I had to leave my hole for?"

With his good hand, the agent pointed off to the right. "About one o'clock, I thought I saw lights then they went out."

She adjusted spectrum filters and distance focals in her optics. It took her longer than it should have to finally focus on the object. There in the distance sat little more than a shack made of corrugated steel and two-by-fours. A rusted truck served as a makeshift roost for the chickens that huddled on the hood. Not far from the shack has a corral contained rangy goats that nestled in the loose straw from a huge, round bale of hay. A light clicked on in the home, its glow seeped from around a closed blind, and smoke puffed from a narrow chimney.

Velocity didn't want to stop there; she didn't want to involve anyone else. She looked at Simmons; he sat there, drumming the finger of his good hand on the ground, waiting on her to tell him what she found. She saw the rumpled, dirty clothes, the way that he cradled his broken hand in his lap, the splatters of energon, her energon, on his coat. Indecision tore at her. She couldn't go much further and a human in the winter desert had little chance of survival. She wanted a clear path, easy answers to the dilemma that they found themselves in, an easy way out, and there were none to be found. Every idea she came up with had potentially disastrous consequences, and not just for her.

She glanced away from Simmons, wanting to hide her guilt. "It's a little shit-hole of a house."

Special Agent Simmons scrambled to his feet and started trotting towards the distant homestead.

She watched him slip into the darkness, and wondered where his endless energy came from. Standing on weak legs, she followed after him.

_**XxxX**_

Hollow thuds sounded throughout the Autobot base as blast shutters and security doors slammed into place He ignored those heavy echoes and the clamorous noises of soldiers and mechs as they carried out their duties.

Ironhide sat in front of Teltraan-1, directing the lock down sequences. Plugged directly into the AI's interface, he processed huge amounts of data faster than if he had read it off the screen. He had dedicated part of his processor to analyze the numerous readings coming from the sensor grid, searching for anything that could indicate a Decepticon attack. But that wasn't why he sat communing with the supercomputer; he needed to figure out what had happened.

He pushed away the guilt that told him he had failed his Prime, that he should have seen this coming. Security had never been his specialty, but for many vorns, he stood between Optimus and all of those that would try to harm him. He had felt that it was an honor and his duty to protect the young mech, and would do anything to do so. Also, he knew the Prime better than any of the others; they shared a long history of friendship and trust, and he loved Optimus as if the mech were his own progeny. Currently, he felt a tingle of apprehension when he thought about Prime. The mech had endured so much over the vorns, lost so much, had his spark torn apart and witnessed the destruction of all that he cherished. Ironhide wondered how much more Optimus could endure before his processor fritzed from the strain.

He rubbed his face and re-focused on the data streams. A little over four cycles ago, Ratchet had left the base with Velocity, Agent Simmons and Mikaela. The medic had checked in with Teletraan when he arrived at the hospital, then fourteen breems later reported that Velocity was returning with Simmons. After that, both seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet. Then things went to total slag.

Prowl had placed the base in on Level 2, one-step below emanate attack. Prime had ordered Hound and Cliffjumper into the field. General Pittenger contacted him to relay that a C-5 Galaxy was on the tarmac, warmed up and waiting. Then Ratchet resurfaced, with reports of possible Decepticon activity. 'Bee and Sam were en route to Mikaela, and Velocity had yet to answer any of the hails sent to her.

_A fraggin' mess._

He relayed and rerouted information to those that needed it, and didn't ask a single question. There would be time for that after Prime and Prowl returned to base and debriefed everyone. But one thing that nagged insistently at him, why had they not noticed anything? It was as if the 'Cons were intentionally keeping a low profile, trying not to attract anyone's attention, and that made his energon run cold.

He really wanted to blast something... anything into oblivion.

Ironhide kept his hands gently resting on the console; minute tremors ran the length of this arm, evidence of the anger, frustration and impatience that gnawed at him. The implications horrified him; he wasn't stupid. That glitch, Ratchet should have never taken Velocity off base, and if anything happened to her, that arrogant medic will lose massive amounts of metal. The femme might be vicious but she still required protection, and wouldn't last long going up against a Decepticon. She lacked the heavy armor and weaponry needed to defend herself. Her best beat would be to hide and stay off everyone's scanners, which just might be what she was doing at the moment. He hoped that that was the situation, and they would find her safely curled up in some parking garage arguing with Agent Simmons.

Even he could wish for the improbable.

As he sat and pieced together data points, his anger grew. Drumming his fingers on the console, this was a waste of time. He wanted to get off his aft and _do_... something. Need a bunker full of 'Cons cleaned out, he was the mech for the job. Need a precise time line of events and all the possible variables that could influence those events, then get someone else.

::Ironhide to Wheeljack, report to Central Ops.::

::Negative.::

The weapons specialist twitched, his optic shutters narrowed to slits. ::I need you in Central Ops now. What is so slagging important?::

::Huffer and I are trying to finish the footings for the plasma cannons I pulled off the Ark. If there is a chance that the Decepticons might attack, I want to get some sort of defensive measures up and running.::

Ironhide smirked to himself, before he became a weapons specialist; he had been a damn good engineer and architect in his own right. This was easy enough to solve. ::Trade me places, I can drill holes for support bolts better than you can. Oh, and did you remember to anchor the entire thing to the rock substrata or account for the force of the blow back from the muzzle blast? Don't want to accidentally kill any humans standing around.::

The silence over the comm. answered for the scientist, and stretched into long clicks.

::I assume you are going to brief me before we switch assignments.:: Wheeljack mumbled.

He closed the link without a response. Wheeljack might create some of the nastiest weapons this side of the Nivarian Rift, but it was usually up to someone with more _practical_ _experience_ to figure out how to apply them... safely.

_**XxxX**_

Simmons paused, and Velocity silently thanked him. Her legs trembled, but she refused to sit down, fearful that she wouldn't be able to get back up. Every step had become torture for her, an agonizing progression with little hope of success. She glanced at the man's face. His brows knit into a deep scowl and his lips pressed so tightly together they had become a thin line.

He met her scrutiny with a defiant glare and a snarky comment. "You really do look like shit."

Their movements roused a couple of chickens from their roosts, the soft clucks carried in the still desert air. She wondered when the goats would catch their scent and start bleating in alarm, but for now, they remained silently resting in their hay pile.

She smiled weakly. "'s the hand?" her words came out warbled, slightly distorted.

He stiffened his back, and casually shrugged. "You mean the arm. I'm pretty sure it's broken in two places."

She winced in sympathy. She didn't know if it was machismo or plain stubbornness, but Simmons seemed to be hiding his pain from her. It made her want to hug and slap him at the same time. Velocity swore to herself that she would do everything she could to get him out of this mess and back home. She owed him that much.

They continued towards the homestead. With slumped shoulders, she dragged her feet along the desert dirt, picking them up was too much effort. Her vision had narrowed to a tunnel that focused only on the house. She didn't know what they would do when they got there. Perhaps splint Reggie's arm and find him and a bite to eat. She could see if any gasoline was stored nearby, maybe siphon the truck. Ironhide had told her fossil fuels could be used as an energy source, but not without repercussions. But her choices had settled between going offline and Ratchet flushing her fuel lines later. The second option at least had a "later" attached to it.

The distant drone of an engine reached her audios and became a grim weight in her soul. She shuttered her optics and cursed, they were so close. She cautiously raised her head, trying to locate the source, but her fritzing sensors made it impossible to pinpoint his direction. She shuffled after Simmons.

The roar from massive engines grew louder; increasing in volume as the Decepticon came closer. With weary resolve, she stopped. Standing her full height, she prepared to give Simmons time to run.

The sonic boom took her completely by surprise. The concussion wave slammed into her, knocking her onto her back. Static laced across her optics, and her audios rang from the feedback. Systems flickered, before they stabilized. She rolled onto her side and searched for Simmons. Her processor screamed for her body to respond faster.

She found him on his knees, his head pressed between his good hand and his shoulder, as if trying to block out the sound. His face contorted in pain. The screamed bleats of terrified goats cut through the static in her head.

Velocity forced herself to stand. Her legs wobbled under her own weight, threatening to give out at any moment. She started to hobble towards Simmons.

The Decepticon shrieked out of the clouds, diving towards her. Air hissed over his wings.

She tried to dive out of his way, but he was too fast for her depleted state. His wing clipped her across the chest crumpling her armor and sent her spinning into the air. Velocity landed in a tumbled heap, rolling from the force of the blow.

"Get up." A small, soft hand pushed at her. "Come on, get up." The hand pulled at her armor in a futile attempt to move her. "Don't you dare crap out on me now, you metal bitch." A fist smacked against the side of her head. She barely registered it.

Alarms flashed frantically across her HUD. She moaned, but didn't move. Intakes rattled alarmingly as she tried to suck air over them, a raspy, grating sound followed by metallic pings. Laid out on her back she looked up, clouds hid the stars she loved so dearly. Disappointment enveloped her; she would never see their flickering lights again. A warm tickle of emotions flared within her, but didn't belong to her. Apprehension, anger, frustration, and protective love swirled to her from Optimus...

_Optimus!_

She tore down the barrier she had erected between them. The force of his emotions threatened to overpower her, then he was there with her, wrapped deep within her soul, feeding her strength, driving her to keep fighting.

"Okay," she whispered a promise to keep going, if only for him.

The ground beneath her trembled as something heavy slammed into it. She lifted her head, and looked. A Decepticon stood between her and the little shanty house. His wide, wedge shaped wings blocking her view of the valley beyond. His optics burned like Hell's Fire in the shadows of his face. The same bastard terrorized her on the interstate.

She rolled onto her stomach to stand, and nearly squished Simmons in the process.

"Watch it," he snapped as he scrambled out of her way.

She growled a low threat at the Decepticon, and braced herself on her hands and knees. The gears in her shoulders whined with strain. A surge of power hit her, its warmth filling her, giving her the will to fight.

The mech only cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest, the snubbed barrel of a weapon poking out.

With unsure movements, she staggered to her feet, and he didn't react. Even with Optimus nourishing her soul, she didn't dare challenge the seeker. The mech towered above her, infinitely stronger and his entire frame loaded with weaponry, he would make short of work her. Velocity slowly shifted one foot behind her, then the other. The Decepticon watched, but made no move against her. Surprise pulsed through her body, was he really going to let her walk away?

Simmons looked back and forth between her and the Decepticon, his expression intent, eyes alert. The man stayed close to her, and moved when she did.

Another step backwards, a few more feet placed between her and the flier. If she could get enough distance, then she could make a run for it, transform back into her alternate mode and speed off.

The mech shifted, and a cruel smile played on his face. He swung the weapon and fired twice at her.

She cringed. Rocks and gravel pelted both her and Simmons. The shots gouged out deep ruts on either side of her feet, his deep voice rumbled a threat in Cybertronian. The message was clear.

She stopped, cowering from the blasts and waited for the next one to kill her. It didn't come.

Velocity slowly uncoiled, watching the seeker with wary optics. He could have killed her right then, but he didn't. Actually, the Decepticons could have killed her at any time during the chase, but they hadn't. The realization hit her and fear filled her soul. The enemy mechs didn't want her dead; they wanted her alone and far away from the Autobots. The wanted her alive but weak, unable to fight back. Terror froze the small amount of energon in her system, and squeezed her chest until it hurt. Dead was dead, they couldn't do anything to her, but alive they could break her and make death a distant dream.

She started to tremble.

Warmth flowed within her. Optimus pulled at her, holding her as best he could, but she could feel his fear, and helpless trepidation. It broke her heart. He should never have to endure such. A choked whine came from her vocals as she felt his despair; they both knew the inevitable outcome. She wanted to save him from as much pain as she could. Hums of powerful engines in the distance made the decision for her. She shut out her mate. Velocity whimpered as she isolated herself from the glow of her bonded, shoving him away to try to protect him. The winter cold chilled her armor, a harsh contrast to the comfort Optimus had tried to give her. Whatever was about to happen she wanted to spare him from it as much as possible.

The Seeker chucked at her.

Velocity squared her shoulders in grim determination and raised her chin high and prideful. She pulled her small blaster from its casing within her thigh and leveled it at the Decepticon. Simmons also pulled his pistol, the hard click of a hammer cocking into place sounded. The man propped his arm against her leg, aiming one-handed.

The smug expression fell off the Decepticons face. He widened his stance and aimed at her chest.

"Looks like a Mexican Standoff." Simmons commented, cocksure arrogance strong in his voice.

The engines grew louder, bouncing off the canyon walls that surrounded them. Simmons slid around her leg, to face behind them, keeping his pistol leveled at the darkness. She didn't have the heart to tell him it would do little good.

"There are two of them," he told her.

"I know." She ground her dental plates and tried to control the tremors in her out-stretched arm, it shook anyways.

The deep thrum of a diesel engine filled her with need, and tempted her to seek out her mate. With a heavy heart, she steeled herself, determined to see this to the end... alone. She flicked on her headlights to illuminate the area for Simmons. The glow from the beams wavered in the darkness

Sound vibrated through her chest as the Decepticons drew near. A cloud of dust enveloped her and Simmons, announcing the arrival of the others. She didn't bother to turn her head as the mechanical sounds of mechs transforming reached her audios.

The heavy crunch of footsteps came from her right. She kept her pistol sights on the flier, but cut her optics to see who was walking around her. A silver mech moved gracefully past her, but kept a weary distance. The seeker also moved, taking up a position to her left. "I assume that the third one is behind us."

"Yup, we are surrounded." Simmons sounded more exasperated then scared.

The silver 'Con moved into her lights. The dust and dirt couldn't hide the metallic shimmer of his paint. Pale blue optics glowed with brutal confidence above his battle mask. He spoke in sharp, fast tones.

"What's he saying?" asked Simmons, his warm weight pressed tightly against the outside of her leg.

The mech rattled off Common Cybertronian so quickly she couldn't follow it. "I haven't a fucking clue."

The Decepticons exchanged confused looks, the seeker even shrugged while keeping his weapon leveled at her. Their expressions would have been comical, had the situation not been so dire.

It took the silver mech a couple of clicks to recover. He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his shoulders. His masked face remained expressionless, but his optics burned with annoyance. "If you wish to speak like a group of un-evolved, soft-bodied, waste producers, then we shall do so."

Simmons spun around to face the mech. "Hey, fuck you!"

Velocity shifted her gun to the other hand so she could wave Reggie back. She didn't need him thinking that he was Charles Bronson at this point. She turned her attention to the silver mech; he appeared to be the leader of this group. "If you wish to talk, it would be nice to understand what you are saying." Her voice sounded strong and confident, even if she didn't feel that way.

The silver mech cocked his head to the side. "Interesting, a femme that claims she cannot understand her native language." His optics lingered on her body, making small chills travel up her spinal assembly. "In truth, your existence raises a plethora of fascinating questions. Fortunately for you, I have more pressing matters to attend to, then discerning where you came from." His optics squinted in a cruel smile. "I have a suspicion that your answers on that subject would be most entertaining, wouldn't they?"

Velocity remained silent. She didn't know what the repercussions would be if the Decepticons discovered the absolute truth about her, but that knowledge could, at the very least, be used to as a wedge to splinter the tenuous relations between the Autobots and the humans. Behind her, a heavy foot shifted on loose rocks.

She twisted her upper-body to point her blaster at the 'Con behind her. The shrill squeal of metal raking against metal filled her audios, and pain flared from her damaged side and chest. An involuntary gasp escaped her vocals.

The brown mech raised his hands in submission, and then took a couple of steps backwards; a malevolent sneer never left his face. They were toying with her, playing out some twisted game that would end when they wanted it to.

Without Optimus funneling her his strength, exhaustion rapidly overtook her. They had her worn down and cornered; they were probably going to kill her. She glanced down she wondered what they would do to Simmons.

"Just terminate the hub and take it. We are wasting time standing around talking." The Seeker transformed his arm into an enormous cannon. An electrical hum filled the air while static bolts crackled across the muzzle opening.

The silver mech raised his hand. "Patience, Thundercracker. We are in control of the situation here; there is little need for violence."

Velocity gritted her dental plates together and swung her weapon around. She sighted a nice spot right between those cold, blue optics. A snarl pulled her lips back as her body started to sag. Velocity widened her stance, waiting.

The silver mech froze. "As I have said there is little need for violence. This will be so much easier if we work out some sort of compromise, something that will benefit the both of us."

Velocity blinked her optic shutters once. She didn't want to hear what the mech had to say, she wanted to pull the trigger and take at least one of them with her. The static along the edges of her vision thickened, and it took every ounce of her iron determination to remain standing.

Simmons chimed in. "The United States doesn't negotiate with terrorists and by any definition of the word, you are terrorists."

An alarm flashed across her HUD. Her legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees, dropping her pistol in the fall, hands to weak to hold on any longer. She inhaled and her chest rattled, the vibrations shook her frame. She silently cursed herself for not being stronger, or smarter. She looked at the Decepticon, her features slack with resignation. She had failed.

The silver mech's optics flashed in the dark.

His gaze met hers, the cold blue glow held unrestrained triumphant. Her ruse was destroyed. He knew that she didn't have any fight left in her.

Beside her Simmons ranted and spit vile threats at the Decepticons. The special agent moved to stand in front of her, his weapon raised.

The mech shifted his weight, glancing at the man curiously. Then his frigid gaze went back to her. "Let me explain a few things to you. You are out flanked, out gunned and almost out of fuel. I doubt the Autobots even know that you are missing at this point and you have something we want. I am willing to let you walk away if you hand it over. Simple, uncomplicated and everyone wins. The alternative is that we terminate you and take it anyways, the choice is yours." His optics smiled and he spread his arms in a gesture of open honesty.

She shook her head. "I hate to break it you, but I don't have anything."

The seeker snickered and mumbled something about "stupid femmes".

The silver mech took a step towards her, then stopped. He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her. "Yes you do, it is standing in front of you."

Immediately she dropped her gaze to Simmons then back to the mech. Her processors struggled to make sense of the mech's words. They wanted Simmons, but why? Her brow plates came together in a deep frown as her mind shifted through her thoughts. .

Simmons shifted his stance and tightened his grip on his weapon. "No, fucking way. I'm not going with you."

A chuckle pulled her attention back to the silver mech. "The animal thinks its opinion matters."

Velocity raised her head again. "Why? Why is Simmons so important?"

The silver mech shrugged. "Don't worry about 'why'. The decision is not very hard, just walk away and let us have him. Your life for the human. There are billions of these creatures on this planet, one less will not matter. Give us Agent Simmons and, if you want, I can shoot you. It will hurt. It will disable you, but it should be enough to convince your Prime that you _valiantly_ tried to save the human."

"Velocity, don't listen to this shit for brains."

She looked at Simmons, and sighed. Her shoulders slumped downward and her head dropped. But why did they want Simmons? It didn't make any sense. A better target would have been Sam or Lennox, someone of personal importance to the Autobots. The only reason the Autobots tolerated Reggie's presence was because the government had requested it. Truth be told, Bumblebee loathed the ex-Sector Seven Agent because he had…

"Velocity?" the man's voice wavered with fear.

She froze. Simmons knew more about hunting Cybertronians than anyone, and had access to information the President couldn't see…Information…Data… Things that could be stored on a computer. Pieces fell into place, the Decepticons were after information and they thought that Simmons could give it to them.

Her head snapped up. If they wanted Simmons then she needed to make sure that they couldn't have him. A plan formed in her mind. A plan that didn't offer much of a future for Reggie and none for her, but it would stop the enemy. A plan formed by someone without options, someone desperate and cornered. She didn't want to do this, to either herself or to her friend, but she had few choices. She knew that she was taking a cowards way out, but considering what she was about to do, perhaps it was for the better.

She looked down at Reggie, regret threatened to choke her words. "I'm sorry."

Simmons turned, looking at her over his shoulder, confusion on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, when she struck.

Without hesitation, she snatched him up by the leg, flinging him towards the goat corral. His shrill screams filled her audios and stabbed her soul.

The silver Decepticon roared and twisted, reaching for the human. His hands snatched empty air.

A mass slammed into her, and sent her sprawling to the ground. She scrambled to get up, but something cold, hard and blunt pinned her down. The hum of a weapon charging right behind her head filled her audios. Fire erupted in her back. Pain arched through her body, racing along delicate wires and blowing surge dampeners apart. White lightening filled her processor before darkness and nothing swallowed her

_**XxxX**_

At ninety miles an hour, the massive red and blue semi careened off the road. His tires chewed up the shoulder and bit into the soft Iowa dirt. The ground gave way, trailer and cab listed to the side, before toppling over

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **Yes, I am trying to become a better writer and learn to sniff out my own mistakes. It is a long an tedious process, but no one should think that this reflects badly on my betas, they have taught me more than they will ever know. I jut wish to try an see how well I can do flying solo, so if I really suck at this and need to go back to my betas, then let me know... please.

**To Dragon260** – LOL! I can't tell you that, it would be a major spoiler. **To Phoenix13 **- I can't leave it like that? Then can I leave it like this? XD Oh, yes. Vaunted self-control it totally going out the window in the near future. ** To Ladyofthebookworms **– Thank you. I have a not so secret infatuation with Simmons and he is just loads of fun to write. **To Library Drone SAR** – Actually, nothing in Velocity's near future will be fun.


	32. Shattered

**Rated**: M for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is a 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

**A/N: **I am going to go ahead and apologize for this chapter. My netbook crashed while I was in the middle of editing and lost part of the chapter. After fighting to get my computer running again and retyping this damn thing, I am sick of looking at it. It probably needs to be edited four more times, but my brain is fried and it has taken me too long to get this posted. I am sorry for any gross and repulsive errors.

_**XxxX**_

_**Shattered**_

_**XxxX**_

_Slag it to the Pit!_

Hardcore surveyed the small, organic body, assessing the level of damage. Scans showed broken supports and ruptured bag-like, internal mechanics. The human's intakes gurgled as if fluid had backwashed into them and his fleshy pump chugged weakly. Agent Simmons's optical coverings fluttered open, the gaze unfocused, and then the visual organs rolled upwards, showing only white. A line of red liquid trickled from the slack mouth.

He didn't have to up-link to the World Wide Web to figure out that the human was dieing. He doubted that Simmons would survive transport, and with no way to repair the organic... _FRAGGIT!_

He rose from his kneeling position, swearing like a common mining-bot. Rage and frustration boiled within him, he clenched and unclenched his fists trying to control his anger. His plans had been perfectly designed, genius even. A fluid scheme devised to take advantage of the fortuitous opportunity that had opened up before him. It should have been simple. Follow Agent Simmons and the femme as they moved away from the Autobot medic. Once they were out sensor range, exhaust the femme's fuel supply until she was no longer a threat and then take the target. Easy, clean and no one needed to lose metal. He wanted hand human, unharmed, over to Soundwave, and reap the rewards of success.

The first stages of his plan unfolded flawlessly. True to form, the femme bolted instead of standing and fighting. In all honesty, he enjoyed the challenge of coursing her; it had been many vorns since he had indulged in the simple pleasure of the chase. He had fully expected the femme to figure things out and attempt to protect the human, but to try to terminate the organic herself… Autobots just did not behave like that.

He glared at her inert form laying face down in the filth, wondering how easy it would be to rip her head off. The promise of violence bubbled beneath his calm exterior. How dare she deny him o f his goal? How dare she even think that she could stand against him? But there lay the primary problem with femmes; they never learned their place.

He cycled his vents, forcing himself to step away from the glorious rush of violence and focus on solving this debacle. Telling Soundwave that the target had been terminated by an Autobot, was _not _an option. The Councilor did not tolerate failure nor did the mech quarter incompetence. Unless he devised an amazing backup plan to offset his... this failure, he wouldn't be much better than the human lying beneath him. One dying human and an off-line femme did not offer much of a solution.

"SLAGGIT!" He resisted the urge to grind the human into a pulpy, red smear.

"Things not progressing according to your plan?"

"Mute it, "Hardcore snarled at Thundercracker.

The seeker merely smiled back, amusement twinkling in his optics. The flier knelt beside the femme and reached out, tracing a finger along the seams in her armor, exploring the curves and grooves of her form.

Hardcore watched, the sneer of disgust twisted his features. "I thought only degenerate Autobots stuck their cables into hubs."

The seeker's head snapped up, animosity glowed in his optics. "I wouldn't stick my cable into either a femme… or a mech. Both are unacceptable."

Before Hardcore could respond, the deep whump-whump of cannon fire echoed in his audios. The squeal of feedback momentarily deafened him, as blinding plasma bursts lit the night.

Startled, he whipped his head around, and battle programs kicked on. Immediately, his primary weapon on-lined and he readied for combat. His pump pounded in his frame, sending energon rushing through feed-lines, fueling his systems, bringing them up to peak performance. He scanned for enemy retaliation, any blip or ping that showed that the Autobots had caught up to them.

Instead of vindictive Autobots, he found Overdrive taking out his boredom on tiny, hoofed mammals. The soldier aimed his cannon and let loose a tight volley of three shoots, obliterating several of the domesticated beasts.

Hardcore grumbled an oath, and overrode his systems, forcing his pump to ease back. Running at such a high rate wasn't without its consequences, rapid fuel consumption being just one of them. He had expended enough fuel chasing the femme.

The panicked animals screamed, their calls high and shrill as they ran circles around their enclosure. Hardcore had to wave his hand, shooing them away before they trampled the human. The creatures broke out of their contaminant, scattering. Some disappeared into the night, and some froze in terror, forming tight groups. Overdrive fired rapidly at the animals.

Hardcore glanced at the human laying at his feet, Agent Simmons moaned, and a hand twitched spasmodically. He looked back to Overdrive; the mech had leveled his cannon, sighting the nearby domicile. "Leave it." Hardcore called out.

The other Decepticon frowned at him, but did not lower his weapon. "What does it matter?"

It mattered very little, but the sound of the blasts rang painfully in his audios, distracting him from his thoughts. Hardcore cycled his vents. He needed a valid reason to tell Overdrive to stand down; otherwise, the mech would spend all night blowing apart the surrounding area.

He scanned the abode to make sure that the readings he picked up earlier were accurate. Inside the small building, a human crotched against a wall with a primitive projectile weapon in his hands and a carnivore next to him. Hardcore glared at Overdrive. "Because there is a human in there, and a dead human brings other humans." .

Overdrive sneered at him, the cannon glowing with a lethal charge. "Then, I will kill them too."

He squared his shoulders and widened his stance; he headed this mission. "No. I do not feel like wading through a sea of organic slim because you lack self-control. Humans have a hive mentality, harm one and they swarm..." He paused, an idea started to form in his processor. It went against conventional wisdom. Primus, it went against all commonsense and logic, but if it worked then he may be able to salvage this.

He looked at the dying man and then to the dwelling, giddy excitement fluttered in his spark. He had observed several things about the humans as he had waited near their repair facility. Humans help their injured; they would go to great lengths to assist a wounded member of their hive. He supposed that it made sense. Compared to their short life spans, young humans took a long time to mature and become a productive member of the hive. So, to them it would be logical to salvage and repair their damaged mature members. He could use their instincts to his advantage.

He addressed Overdrive, "If you fire on that building, I will slag you myself." He met the murderous glare from the mech with one of his own. "I told you to stand down, and that is what I expect." Turning his attention to Thundercracker, he pointed at the red femme and barked, "Don't damage her." He strolled towards where she lay on the ground.

The seeker laughed, his hands resting on his knees as he squat next to the femme. "And what do you expect to do with her? Let her run back to the Autobots and add her guns to theirs? At least let us have a little fun with her."

Hardcore neared the seeker and Thundercracker stood. The flier towered over him, but size did not equate to power. The air between the Decepticons crackled with pent up aggression in an unseen show of dominance that defined Cybertronian society.

Thundercracker and Overdrive had contentedly followed his orders when they assumed that he would led them to Soundwave's favor. Now, they thought that he had failed and they appeared to be thinking of challenging him. This was the Decepticon way, only the strong lead and the weak lay crushed, nothing more than the metallic waste to scrape off one's peds. It ensured that only the best commanded. In his opinion, he was one of the best.

Straightening his back, he crossed his arms over his chest, and stared the massive flier in the optics. "No." The word ground from his vocals as a threat.

Overdrive watched their power play in silence. That mech didn't give Hardcore much concern, the soldier could follow orders and possessed adequate skills, but he lacked ambition. The mech would back whomever he felt was the stronger, but he wouldn't initiate the coup.

Thundercracker cocked his head to the side and looked at him. Bright optics darkened and narrowed to hateful slits. "The target was the human, and he is slagged, so why shouldn't we…"

Hardcore interrupted the seeker, his voice steady and cold. "The femme needs to remain undamaged. A gift for our Lord Soundwave, a plaything for his symbiots. Unless you would like to offer up your own chassis?"

Thundercracker frowned, and then blinked his optic shutters.

Hardcore allowed the seeker a couple of astroseconds for his processor to make the connections. It took longer than it should have for understanding to light Thundercracker's optics, and when it did, the flier's frown deepened.

Hardcore turned his attention to the femme. He hooked his foot underneath her armor and with a kick, flipped her onto her back, her limp limbs landed splayed and spread. Squatting beside the still form, Hardcore grabbed her helm and turned her face towards him. Dirt caked the gaps between the seams, her optics dark, and the copper face slack. As he let go of the small head, it flopped to rest on its side at an awkward angle, evidence that her hypercoils remained flaccid. Had she been on-line, her hypercoils would have had enough tension in them to keep her head from rolling around, and possibly pinching vital wires. He reached across her body to lay his hand in the center of her chest. Sensitive sensors detected the faint pulse of heat from her spark core in the otherwise cold frame. She might survive, and considering the amperage that Thundercracker hit her with, that impressed him.

Movement drew his optics away from his prisoner. He turned his head to find the seeker standing directly behind him. The flier's primary weapon out, but casually pointed towards the ground. Hardcore twisted to get a better view of Thundercracker and to free up his own weapon arm.

"What exactly is your plan?" Thundercracker asked. "The target is unusable to Soundwave, and you want us to return with nothing more than this femme. Have you blown your processor? The only reason Barricade is still functioning is that the human he did manage to capture provided useful information."

Hardcore laid his hand on the femme's helm. "This femme will be able to disclose relevant intelligence, and unlike that chunk of flesh that Barricade dragged in, she will last longer during the interrogation."

Thundercracker exchanged a skeptical glance with Overdrive.

Hardcore continued, "As a contingency I… we are going to leave Agent Simmons here. The human in that dwelling, should try to salvage him, and in effect, saving the target's life for us. Once the humans have repaired Agent Simmons, we will watch and wait for the opportunity to capture him again."

Overdrive crossed his arms over his broad chest. "You have shorted out something. That is the most…"

Hardcore spun and leapt to his feet in one smooth motion. With his hands balled into fists, he stalked towards the other mech, stopping when their electrical fields touched. "Mute it! I am in charge here and it was my skill that got us this close to our target. Closer than Barricade, and we are still within sight of our goal. If you have a better idea, then let me know. Otherwise, silence your vocals. I am in command and if you want to challenge me then go ahead, but I _will_ leave you here, off-line and helpless for the Autobots to find."

The large green and brown mech took a step backwards, and then turned his gaze away. Hardcore pushed closer, forcing his electrical field to crackle along Overdrive's. The mech took another step back and bowed slightly.

Satisfied, Hardcore turned to face Thundercracker. The seeker glared at him, hostility obvious in his sneer and the crimson glow of this optics, but the flier bent at the waist in a deep bow. Before Hardcore could revile in the other's subjugation, Thundercracker scooped the femme's body into his arms and stood, a defiant smirk on his face.

_**XxxX **_

He coughed, and agony flared along his side causing tiny, white cloud to block his vision. The thick, copper taste of blood filled his mouth; a slimy clot choked him until he sputtered enough to spit it out. He could barely breathe. Every inhale lanced through his chest and every exhale gurgled, bringing bloody froth to his lips.

He was dying and it pissed him off.

The hard ground offered him no comfort, small stones dug mercilessly into his flesh, and the cold wind cut across him, chilling him further. He shivered and pain clawed at him, every nerve felt pulled and tight. Slowly, Simmons rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, but ever those simple movements brought excruciating torture. He wanted to scream, to pound his fists, to flail and fight, but he couldn't. Instead, he lay in the dark desert, trying not to whimper.

He had been a boy when his Grand Ma-ma died, and the Rabbi had told him that death was a peaceful process, a pleasant dream that comforted the soon to be deceased. He had learned over the years that those bastards had lied. He had seen too many people crying and pissing themselves during their final moments. He wanted to tell those lying assholes of his youth that dying hurt like a motherfucker and that they were all full of shit.

Another cough racked his failing body. A piteous moan escaped his lips. _Fuck, why did dying have to take so long? He had shit he needed to do. _

His world had shrunk to the handful of pebbles and scattered hay that littered the ground in front of his face. He tried to focus, but everything else remained fuzzy and distant. Closing his eyes, he prayed to a god that he hadn't thought about in years. He didn't beg for mercy or plead for his life, he just wanted the pain to go away. He just wanted the peace that should accompany death, not this endless torture. No one answered him; no deities took him in their arms and eased his suffering. He lay alone on the frozen ground. His mind wandered nonsensically through his memories, and with each bloody breath, he moved further and further from the present.

A light played over the ground in front of him. Its luminescent glow swept back and forth, moving ever closer to where he lay.

He sucked in a wet breath, trying to get air into his damaged lunges. The light danced closer and his oxygen deprived mind turned it into the discharge pulse of an alien cannon.

Simmons tried to scream, but his memories drowned him.

… The brutal betrayal of a friend...

… His body sailing threw the air then slamming into the ground…

…A mech towering over him, scrutinizing him, and then leaving him to die...

Something touched him. Something pulled him from his memories and back to the present. It slipped under his coat and moved along his body. Touching. Nudging. Carefully exploring. He wanted to ask for help, but his body rebelled and trembled weakly. He lay helpless to the intrusion.

The something tugged at his jacket, then disappeared. His addled mind didn't know if he should try to cry out or play dead. The thought of playing dead brought a gagging, mirthless shudder of laughter from him. _He was dead, why play like it?_

The light returned and bounced across the ground once more. As the beam touched him, he expected it to swallow him, to take him, to end his miserable existence. He shut his eyes against the blinding ray and waited.

"Shit, man. The last thing I need is a dead fed in my yard."

_The disembodied voice couldn't belong to God_, Simmons thought. _God wouldn't slur like he'd been on a weeklong bender. _

The dull crunch of retreating foot falls carried the mumbling voice away.

Once more, he lay alone in the desert. The darkness sat around him, a hungry beast, a carrion feeder waiting for its turn at his flesh. After several attempts, he raised his middle finger, flipping the bird at the darkness.

The rumble of an engine filtered to him. He scrambled to hold onto consciousness. The mechanical thrum could belong to friend or foe, salvation or damnation. He listened. What was coming? Who was coming? The engine rattled and sputtered, it sounded old and wounded. It lacked the tight purr and the deep, smooth strokes of the perfectly synchronized pistons of a mech. It sounded blandly of human construction.

A small flicker of hope flared within him, and Simmons struggled against the cold and darkness. Could help be coming? He let the pain slice at him, and in turn, he used it to hold onto life.

He heard the crunch of something heavy rolling slowly over the dirt. He wanted to twist so he could see it, but pain forced him to remain still. The heavy thing moved closer and closer until the squeal of a cracked brake pad heralded its stop. Acrid fumes from a warm exhaust washed over him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he regretted joking about dead hookers. He wanted to be dead before his body disappeared into a shallow grave, hidden in the wastelands.

A commotion surrounded him. A symphony of odd noises jumbled together: a car door opening, feet clomping around, a voice, a whistle. He tried to raise his head, but a mass of smelly fur fell on his face threatened to suffocate him. The fur whined and a wet tongue left trails of slobber on his face and neck. Hegrimaced, preferring less furry attention.

Death tugged at him. The blackness wrapped around him and tangled him in a strangle hold. He felt himself slipping. Even the dog sniffing at him seemed as if it was happening to someone else.

Pain slammed him back into the world of the living. Disoriented, he found himself on his back, staring up into a wizened, leathery face surrounded by long, silver hair than glowed, backlit by headlights. The man's wrinkled lips moved in silent speech, and dark eyes looked piteously at him. Simmons wanted to tell the old man to get help, but Death kept its hold on him, stealing his voice.

The old man shifted, straddling him. Rough hands gripped the front of his coat and pulled him up.

Simmons screamed in agony before the darkness ate him.

_**XxxX **_

The drab-green C5 transport plane made its way above the thick clouds. The massive aircraft appeared cumbersome; the enormous body with its bulbous design and high sitting wings looked incapable of taking to the air. Primitive engines droned on ceaselessly, the unending vibrations rattled throughout the plane and his frame. A constant throbbing that agitated his sensors and aggravated old battle injuries. He ignored them; they were minor irritants. His focus remained on his commander.

Prowl scanned the larger mech almost continuously. He lacked the finely honed skills of a fully trained medibot, and did not have a clue what to do if Optimus went into systems failure due to spark separation. That scenario simply terrified him, so he scanned and rescanned for lack of any other course of action.

Spark separation. Even Prowl scoffed at the clinicalness of the term. How many mech had he seen collapse writhing, their bondmate terminated, their own sparks torn apart, leaving not one, but two bodies on the ground? Spark separation, a nice, clean term for the suffering that occurs when one-half of a bonded pair dies.

During peace, bonding was the greatest gift any Cybertronian could have, the glory of sharing every piece of one's life with another, the comfort of complete acceptance. During war… war corrupted it, twisting it into the greatest weakness. A vulnerability the enemy had regularly taken advantage of. One shot, two kills.

Few bondpairs survived the first vorns of the war, and fewer remain. Now, most Cybertronians remained alone, for they had learned a brutal truth, bonding meant death.

Optimus and many other Autobots found the practice of seeking out the bondpairs and killing them first repulsive and offensive, but the Autobots were just as guilty as the 'Cons. Prime never condoned the action, he spoke against it, but many of his generals sought out and eliminated bonded Decepticons to thin the enemy ranks. One shot, two kills.

Prowl sighed. Once the Decepticons figured out whom and what Velocity is to the Prime, they will terminate her in hopes of terminating Optimus. They might be successful. He doubted that they would choose any other path, and in their place, he knew he would do the same. Had Megatron ever taken a bondmate, the cross hairs of a sniper would have been sited over that mech's spark chamber. One shot, two kills.

The plane rolled to the right, and he tightened his struts to keep from listing with it. Sitting locked in his altform, his bumper rested only two human inches from Optimus. He didn't want to accidentally bump the commander. Running another set of scans, he wondered if Optimus even noticed the intrusion. Since boarding the plane, the larger mech sat in pensive silence, but his electrical field hummed with volatile rage.

Few knew of this side of the mighty Prime. The reactionary side, the violently aggressive side. And even fewer had exposure to it. Most saw Optimus as a gracious, caring mech. Someone they can confide in, or seek advice from and he deserved that reputation. However, that was not the only side to Optimus.

Before the war had started, Prowl had seen the Prime as soft. An ineffectual leader that concerned himself only with the happiness of the labor-bots and not with the needs of Cybertron. It had almost cost him his spark to finally see what Optimus saw.

Once, so long ago, Prowl answered only to the High Lord Protector. He had proudly served, heading a group of mechs that enforced ordinances and legislation of Iacon. He had had power and influence, or so he thought.

Once, he saw Optimus as weak, a new Prime with lofty, unobtainable ideals. Ideals that could rip apart the fabric of Cybertronian society. He hadn't yet realized that the society he held so dear was already falling apart, and that an inevitable war waited on the horizon

Once, he had believed that only the strong should rule, and those came from the noble status, proven decedents of Primus. The "Proven Decedents of Primus", he had never stopped to think what that phase meant. He had always accepted the rhetoric, until a young Prime had asked him, "Are not all Cybertronians the decedents of Primus?"

Once, Prowl had held no respect for Optimus, few of them had. He respected the status of Prime, but not the mech holding that position. He had made jokes at the young Prime's expense, snide, derogatory jokes. And to rub acid into cracked armor, Optimus had ascended to Prime bonded to a femme. A femme, no self respecting mech would take a femme as a mate. Femmes were not mechs. They looked different; they spoke differently. They kept their distance, shunning Cybertronian society, staying mostly to themselves. Those that did mingle with the mechs served as dolls or took the lowest, most dangerous jobs.

Once, he believed femmes inferior, a stagnant design, until one dented his aft. She had forced him to grovel before her, and her mech-mate watched, laughing. The mighty Corporal Prowl humbled, reduced to begging for forgiveness.

Once… once, long ago he had been a different mech with different beliefs.

The orn he had turned his back on Megatron had been to hardest of his existence. He couldn't have ignored it any longer, the deaths, the corruption, and the cover-ups. He didn't know exactly when he started questioning orders, but he had no one to discuss it with. No one to bounce ideas off of. No one to help him sort things out. By then, Cybertron had changed, mechs, femmes and fliers alike looked over their shoulders in fear. They stood on the brink of war. Packs of rebels took what they pleased, terrorized, butchered and then disappeared in the shadows. Under his watch, Elita had been murdered in an assassination attempt on the Prime, and only group of vigilantes had fought to protect Optimus. The same vigilantes Megatron called criminal and had ordered him to hunt down, and execute on site. He had seen enough, heard enough whispered rumors that he couldn't ignore it any longer.

The orn he had turned his back and walked out of the High Lord's office had been the hardest of his existence. He rejected everything he had believed, leaving him rudderless and adrift, without the comfort of old, and accepted values. When the plasma burst hit him squarely in the back, all of his suspicions coalesced into facts, and new insight and understanding burned into his processor.

He can't remember exactly how he survived long enough to find Ironhide's bailiwick, only that Nightbeat risked his life to help. There was no going back at that point, for either of them. They had become enemies of the state, traitors. He could still remember on-lining in a portable medbay made from rainproof metal fabric. His brother's face only a hister from his. The easy smile, gone, replaced by an unfamiliar expression of seriousness. "It's started," Jazz had said. "Megatron razed Prime's residence, declaring all of Cybertron under martial law." His brother turned and looked away, but not before a dark shadow crossed over the normally jubilant features.

How quickly his views and opinions had changed. Over the vorns, he worked along side the Prime. He had seen the strength inside of Optimus, and he understood. Optimus held all life sacred; something cherished and respected. But he wouldn't surrender nor retreat. If forced to fight, he did so with a righteous rage. If their enemies left them with violence as the only option, then the Prime struck with shocking lethality, and later, he grieved over the deaths. Few knew of this side of Prime. The iron-tough will that supported the soft, nurturing mech.

Somewhere in all of the death and violence, they had become friends. When necessity forced them to, they had shared almost everything, from energon rations to bunk space. Prowl had been privy to see sides of the Autobot commander that few even knew existed. Only Ironhide could read and understand the Prime better.

Prowl suppressed a shiver as Optimus's energy field brushed against his. The coldness in that feathery touch worried Prowl, for he had only seen Optimus like this twice before: while he recovered from Elita's death and again upon the news that the femmes had been butchered. This was Prime at his most dangerous, when he could easily stripe off the mantle of morality and become wrath incarnate. If confronted with such a truth about the benevolent Optimus Prime, most Autobots would scoff at the idea, because they had forgotten, or had never known whom he shared programming with and had called "brother".

::Prowl to Optimus.:: Out of respect, he rarely used such familiarity with the Prime.

::Optimus.:: The words sounded strained, and held an undertone of irritation.

Prowl chose his words carefully, he trusted the Prime, but… ::Have you heard from Velocity?::

The semi sighed. ::No. Our bond is unhindered and open, but I cannot feel anything from her.::

::If she is alive, then there is hope.::

The Prime sank down on his struts, and his electrical field washed over Prowl. It lost some of its angry sting and worry rolled off the larger mech. ::Thank you, Prowl.::

The tactician didn't respond. He wished he could believe the words of comfort he gave to Optimus, but he couldn't. Every breem that passed without finding the femme dropped her chances for survival.

_**XxxX**_

Catherine reached up and over, gripping the headrest behind her. She arched her back, twisting and stretching tired muscles. She yawned and collapsed back into the bucket seat, then rubbed her eyes. God, she wanted a coffee. Her early day had turned into a late night, and now had become an all-nighter.

Cliffjumper's rear-view mirror reflected the image of a woman with smudged makeup and disheveled hair. She grimaced and ran her fingers through the tangled mess, pulling at the knots. Now, she really wanted coffee, and a shower. Back on the highway, she had been ecstatic to see Hound again. She had lost her cool and actually squealed his name. The Autobot had offered her a tight smile before Ratchet stepped forward and started speaking in those static, warbled tones, they called a language. Intentionally being left out of the conversation had left her miffed. She had pouted and huffed at the mechs, demanding information and snapping when they didn't tell her anything. They had continued ignoring her, acting as if she didn't exist or didn't deserve their notice. Her, Catherine Cutter, the woman continuously putting her career on the line for them. Did they think that she liked the idea of the unemployment line or flipping burgers at some dead-end job? Didn't they realize that she could have easily portrayed them in a different light, one not so appealing to the mass public?

She stood and watched the three Autobots discuss whatever giant aliens discuss. She had the distinct impression that something else had gone down, something that they weren't telling anyone. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that there was more than meets the eye here. Why would the Decepticons cause such a commotion? What was that crystal thingy? Why were the Decepticons trying to block all communications?

Frustrated and tired she decided that they had ignored her long enough. When Hound and Cliffjumper started the intricate process of transforming back into vehicles, she watched and waited. During the final stages of his shifting, she yanked Cliffjumper's door open and jumped in his cab. The startled mech just stopped, frozen in partial transformation, while she squirmed around in his interior attempting to avoid sharp metal edges. However, in that moment, she had learned a curious fact about Transformers: once a person is inside of them, they have a hard time forcing that person out, without harming them. No matter how annoyed Ratchet got, or how much rationalizing Hound did, she had refused to budge. She had won. They agreed to take her with them.

Now she regretted that victory.

The Autobots had traveled far into the desert… the middle of nowhere… a hundred miles from anything close to civilization. What she had expected to be an exciting thrill ride had turned out to be mind numbingly boring. Stuck inside of Cliffjumper, she couldn't be with Hound. Her ride had tried to explain that she would be a distraction, and Hound didn't need any distractions at the moment. Is that all Hound saw her as, a distraction? A nagging, little voice cautioned her about letting her thoughts wander down that path. It informed her that she would have been better off staying with Ratchet. At least then, she could have been back at the hospital or at home and in bed. She hated it when the little voice in her head sounded like her mother.

She glanced at her watch and moaned, the hands on it read closer to daylight than midnight.

"Are you alright?"

She jumped at the sound of Cliffjumper's disembodied voice. The mech had been blessedly quiet since she had told him that she didn't believe, nor care to hear his war stories. "Yeah, I'm just tired."

"Oh, good. I was concerned that you had to empty your fluid waste reservoir."

It took her a couple a second to decipher the Autobot's words. Heat burned in her cheeks and she huffed. "No, I don't have to pee."

Tense silence lingered between them. She knew that she had wounded the mech's pride, but didn't really care. After an hour and forty-five minutes of hearing about the grandiose and questionable war exploits, she had had enough. The only other time she had tolerated such bragging, she had gotten a steak and lobster dinner out of it. She didn't see any steak or lobster here.

She shifted, trying to relieve a cramp in her leg. Finally, she gave up and kicked her shoes to the mech's floorboard, sitting Lotus style in the seat. "How much longer?"

Cliffjumper bounded along the road, his taillights fixed on Hound's bumper. "How much longer until what?"

Catherine swallowed and shut her eyes, attempting to reign in the bitch. "Until we get there?" Her voice sounded strained with the effort it took not to snap at the mech.

Cliffjumper didn't respond. The Autobot hit his brakes slid to an abrupt halt.

Reflexively, she threw her hands in front of her, as she slammed against the seatbelt, and that thin width of material kept her from face-planting on his dash, knocking out her teeth. "Watch it!"

Through Cliffjumper's dust windshield, she could see Hound transforming. The swirling dust, austere light and deep shadows made him look like something from another world. Her heart pounded in her chest.

She tugged at the door release. It didn't budge.

"Just wait a breem," Cliffjumper advised.

Pouting, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

Outside, Hound walked in a wide circle, his optics locked on the ground. After a minute, he made a series of rapid gestures with his hands. The door beside her unlocked with an audible click then swung open.

Throwing off her seat belt, she stumbled out of Cliffjumper, her legs stiff from sitting so long. Turning and squatting, she felt around under his seat for her shoes. Her feet cramped in protest to the cold ground, and once she slipped them on, they cramped in protest to the narrow shoes. She hobbled after Hound.

As she stepped off the asphalt, she noticed two long ruts in the dirt. To her it looked as if someone lost control and slid off the road. Probably some dumb-ass kid pushing his luck as he pushed the gas peddle. She had seen this scenario played out too many times. What was it about the desert that tempted the thrill seekers? Was it the desolate spaces that tempted people to test their luck? Perhaps it was the sensual curves in the roads that lured drivers into open the throttle and hit the gas? She stepped over one of the gouges and continued towards the mech.

Behind her Cliffjumper made his own shift from a red off-road Jeep Windcharger with over sized tires to a red robot with stubby "horns" on his head.

Hound knelt on the hard-packed dirt, his hand running along on of the deep ruts as his headlamps illuminated it. His optics unfocused and distant, gazed into the darkness. His facial plates shifted downward into a frowned.

Catherine walked to the mech and stood beside him. She rested her hand on his thigh. "What is it?"

Pure blue optics looked down at her, their cool light casting dark shadows around his face. "They pushed her off the road, and over the embankment." He pointed towards the darkness beyond.

A strip of darker black separated them from the desert, a shadowy maw that opened up in the earth and waited greedily for someone to fall in. "Her who?"

Hound stared at where her hand touched his armor, his frown shifted into an ineffable expression. "Velocity."

"Velocity? Oh, my God. Ratchet mentioned that he couldn't call, or reach her."

A deep sigh sucked air into his body. "Yes. It appears that the Decepticons found her before we did." He raised a hand and pointed. "Her signal continues south-west, but this is where…" His voice trailed off.

The severity of situation dawned on Catherine, the Autobots weren't looking for the Decepticons, they were searching for one of their own.

Cliffjumper's footfalls vibrated the ground as he joined them. "Which way Hound?"

Hound's gaze shifted from road and the parallel lines in the dirt. "She doubled back. I detect two separate trails from her, and two different mechs. Velocity came past here, with one of them on her aft, and then somehow eluded him down the road. She started backtracking and the second 'Con meet her here."

Hound stood and followed the lines in the dirt, his deep footprints marking the ground. He walked until the edge of the ravine stopped him, his headlamps shone into drop below, their beams disappearing into the crevasse. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression guarded. Taking a step, he launched himself off the ledge and into the awaiting darkness.

Catherine squealed.

Warm hands wrapped around her body and lifted her off the ground. She screamed as Cliffjumper lived up to his name and leapt, taking her with him.

The landing jarred her bones and the edges of his finger joints bruised her flesh. She shut her eyes, and gulped air. She didn't like thrill rides, they made her nauseous. "You should warn a person next time," she snapped.

The mech ignored her and lifted her higher, placing her on his shoulder. Catherine opened her mouth to complain, and then she realized that she had an excellent view and his lights didn't glare in her eyes.

Hound stood looking back up the incline, his lamps illuminated the collapsed slope. "'Jumper, do not set Miss. Cutter down. The ground here is contaminated with energon."

"Slag. I see it." Cliffjumper growled, the vibrations startled Catherine. "I want to catch those glitches."

Silently, Hound turned and stalked down the dry riverbed. Cliffjumper followed.

The cold wind forced her to seek refuge against Cliffjumper. The warmth that the mech's armor helped keep the chill at bay. The Autobots kept walking and sleep tugged at her. The mech's steady pace and rhythmic motion lulled her into relaxing. The dry creek bed became a blur of dirt sand and rocks, every new yard looking like the ones that came before it. Only the occasional garble of the mechs talking broke the silence. Sleep tugged at her, and she relaxed further. A gray hand cupped her, keeping her from slipping from her perch and she gave into need. Fitfully, she dozed off and on. Not quite asleep and not quite awake either, a twilight awareness.

A massive hand moved her, startling her. "I am going to set you down now."

She didn't know how far they walked. It could have been a couple of miles or it could have been twenty. She yawned and nodded as Cliffjumper scooped her up like she were a doll made of fine, bone china.

"Where are we?" she asked. Looking around she could see a shed or a shack. Smoking mounds and smoldering craters littered the area. The Autobot's lights sweep over the area, and a rickety fence made of nothing more than chicken wire and stakes jammed into the ground, glowed in the light. "Nice dump."

The wind picked up. A stench assaulted her, gagging her. She covered her mouth and nose trying keep from inhaling the aroma of roasted entrails and burned hair. Her stomach rolled alarmingly. "Oh, my God. What is that?"

Hound dropped to one knee in front of her, his hand cupped around her to offer support, but his optics burned with anger. "_That_ is the difference between Autobots and Decepticons. You want to tell the world about us? Do your species a favor and tell them about the Decepticons, humans need to understand what our enemies will do. Tonight they only slaughtered a few animals, next week it might be an entire town."

Catherine's blood ran cold. She had assumed that Hound was a jovial, good-natured mech, but she had been mistaken; deep inside those glowing, blue optics laid sadness and suffering. She nodded in understanding and squared her shoulders. She was a reporter, albeit a small time, local reported who covered mostly church socials and grand openings, but a reported just the same. She had an obligation to report the facts. With hesitant steps, she headed towards the shack to see if anyone might be at home, a person to interview, a witness to what happened here.

In the dark, she tripped over her first experience with war and death. The cooked skin had pulled away from the animal's muzzle in a nightmarish grin, the white teeth stark against blackened bone. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the revulsion at her feet. _It isn't human. It isn't human. It isn't human, _ran through her head like a mantra. As she watched, a steamed eyeball popped, its gelatin contents rolled sizzling down the animal's cheek.

She made it three steps before she threw-up.

_**XxxX**_

He lifted his head to the clouded heavens of this world, and sighed. Unlike Cliffjumper, he was old enough to remember a Cybertron without death and violence, when they were not continuously hunting and killing their own kind just for a chance at survival. He had known of peace before the war before their fighting had destroyed their world, leaving it scared, torn and dying.

The vaporous clouds above him slowly swirled in a rhythm all their own, ignorant and unbothered by the affairs of men and mechs. He shuttered his optics, and muted his vocals, holding back a pitiful moan. He liked this world… this Earth, with all of its amazing life forms and exotic vistas. This planet spoke to him in a way that Cybertron never had. It called to him, soft whispers on the wind, tempting him away, teasing him, and luring him. This world offered him a chance to leave the fighting behind, to leave both the Autobots and the Decepticons behind and to hide. To just simply exist. Perhaps he could pretend to be a terran vehicle, owned and pampered and… he couldn't. He had a duty to the Prime. A sworn allegiance that noting in the universe could force him to violate. He would do anything to serve his leader, but he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have to report what he knew he would find here.

Opening his optic shutters, Hound set to work; his spark twisted within his chest, as he surveyed the scene before him. Sensor sweeps gave him a minutely detailed topographic map of the area, down to one thousandth of a micro-hister. He could pick out the tiniest pebbles on the rocky ground, and the smallest tuft of dormant vegetation. Once that data showed on his HUD, producing an overlay for what his optics already showed him, he switched off all non-essential systems and re-routed the power to his array of delicate and fine tuned energy sensors.

Like this, he was at his most vulnerable. The shift in power left him both blind and deaf to everything not within the narrow field. It also weakened him, draining his reserves, making him an easy target for any 'Con in the area. He had to rely upon Cliffjumper to watch and warn him. The little, red mech served as both his partner and protector. He trusted the mech like no other, and Cliffjumper, for all of his faults, took his duty seriously.

Making scan upon scan, Hound built up layers of images, ethereal energy signals that swirled in the wind, shifting and playing over the ground. Eventually, they would fade to the point that even he couldn't find them, but right now, they told him a story. Showing him what had to be a femme's final, defiant stand.

His sensors gave him the map, the layout of the area, and the placement and strength of a myriad of signals, all raw data. However, it took skill and insight to interpret that data, and he was one of the best. He could "see" where three Cybertronians had stood in a rough triangle. Their signals unfamiliar, but one had to be a seeker. Shifting past them, he searched the center of the triangle, a logical place to start. He knew Velocity's signal, it resonated differently, making it easy to distinguish from that of any other Cybertronian. He also knew Cliffjumper's and Smokescreen's signals, among others. It took him less than an astrosecond to find Velocity's and isolate it from the stronger signals that belonged to the Decepticons.

She had stood here, surrounded by an enemy to great for her to fight, pinned down and unable to run. He did not want to think about what she had felt, or thought. He didn't want to look for the spill of energon that the greedy desert soil would attempt to soak up.

He recorded the readings, Prowl would want to review them later. Then he switched filters and altered frequencies. He searched for the telltale low readings of residual energy from a weapon. His spark sank when he found it. There underneath the higher, more vibrant signature of the femme, he found evidence of a single, powerful burst.

Hound hated this. He didn't want to learn what had happened. He liked the peculiar, little femme, and he liked the fact that the Prime seemed to take more than just a casual interest in her. To him it symbolized a new start, that perhaps the war was abating, and they could all think about what lie beyond.

Now, part of that future might be erased.

He shut down his sensor array and allowed the other systems to reboot. Pushing past is fatigue, he thought about what he had found. The Decepticons had chased her down, surrounded her, hit her with a powerful electrical burst, and then taken her. At that point, she had been alive. The 'Cons never bothered taking the dead; at most they would strip off any usable parts and leave the rest. He wondered how long they would let her live. Glancing around, he sighed and guilt tightened his spark. He wished that they had killed her. He didn't want such calloused thoughts, but death would be far better than what they would do to her.

With slow steps, he walked to where her signal was the strongest. He knelt on one knee; the ground here had been turned over. Deep gouges marking where something fallen. He ran his hands along the trails, places the armor of her form had ripped up the dirt. To either side five tightly spaced claw marks lined the dirt. He placed his hand over one set the marks, covering them completely. She had tore at the ground, a reflex from the pain of the blast.

Rocking back on his haunches he tried to distance himself from what he saw, what he knew. He was a soldier… A tracker… A warrior. He should have become hardened to such things, but he hadn't. Cold calculations and brutal behavior escaped him, he just couldn't process how any mech functioned like that.

His gaze swept over the mountains in the distance, they beckoned to him. He glanced over his shoulder to Cliffjumper; the mech stared at him, but remained quiet. Catherine also looked at him; he could see the questions on their faces.

Hound shifted to stand. He glanced down and noticed a tiny footprint in the dirt, the mark of a human shoe. He blinked twice, before realizing his folly. He had forgotten about Agent Simmons. With quick movements, he jumped to his feet. "'Jumper, Miss. Cutter spread out and look for Agent Simmons."

He started scanning the smoldering piles of flesh that littered the area. Comparing the charred remains to what he knew abut human structures, he decided that the Decepticons had wasted a lot of firepower in eradicating a herd of Capra aegagrus hircus. But more importantly, he didn't' find any evidence of a human body.

Catherine screamed. He whipped around, concerned for her safety. The woman pulled her foot out of a furry carcass. Her face twisted in revulsion. "I didn't see it," she whined.

He graced her with a tight smile. "Stay with Cliffjumper, he'll light a path for ya."

Hound returned to his searching. He couldn't help Velocity, but if he could help Agent Simmons. That would serve as a balm for his tired spark. He scanned the inside of the little house and it turned up empty. Ignoring his frustration, he wondered which direction a human would most likely travel in the desert. He walked around. trying to find any footprints that the man could have left behind. He found nothing.

"Hound." He barely noticed Cliffjumper calling his name.

"Hound."

"What is it?" he grumbled with detached interest.

"I've found… something." The worrisome tone snapped Hound's head around.

'Jumper stood near a pile of dried vegetation, looking at the ground, his headlights illuminating a dark patch on the dirt.

A quick scan informed Hound that it was blood. Not a lot of it, but enough to make a little, inky blot on the ground. The goats hadn't bleed; plasma had burned the bodies crisp and cauterized. This came from a different kind of injury.

He searched the area around the blood until he located the tire marks. He didn't have to turn on his delicate array to tell that they had been from an Earth vehicle. Cliffjumper looked at him expectantly, and Miss. Cutter shivered from the cold. "I can't follow this. It isn't from one of us, and without an electrical signature, I'll lose is as soon as we reach a paved road."

His partner cursed heatedly in Common Cybertronian. "Can you tell which way the Decepticons went? Maybe lead us back to their bailiwick?"

Hound shook his head. "No. I am fatigued and they masked their signals once they left the area. All we can do now is head back to base and report."

_**XxxX**_

**A/N 2: **Thank you to all of those that commented, and/or placed this or me on your favorite or alert list. And thank you to all those that read and stay in the shadows. I know you are there, I see the numbers on my traffic page. Luvs and warm fuzzies, ya'll make this worth the headache.

To **Anonymous**: Thank you. Here is a new chapter. To **Good-Fellow: **LOL. Thank you. To **TheravenQuoth: **Settle down. XD Sadly, you still don't know much. This will take a while for everything to play out. To **k2rduk: **LOL I am mean. But since you offered cherries… To **Novamyth: **XD. That I would like to see. **To Empress-Eerain-Sadow**: Gaw. Thanks for pointing that out. I caught that same mistake in this chapter. The heart break is going to be heavy. To **fyingtwinkie: **OMG! You're alive! *glomp*. To **: ***pats* Thank you. To **Library Drone SAR: **Thank you. I am nervous about trying to write without a beta, but those awesome ladies still help me work out nasty glitches.

Oh yeah, Capra aegagrus hircus is the domestic goat. micro-hister is drabble, let's say that it is tiny


	33. Captured

**Rated**: M for adult themes. Language, violence, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**XxxX**_

_**Captured**_

_**XxxX**_

A viscous liquid slid down her throat, pulling her from tranquil dormancy. She sputtered, spitting the foul gunk out of her mouth, and then she slipped towards the soothing, safe nothing once again.

More of the vile slop trickled into her mouth, but this time, something wedged between her dental plates keeping her mouth open, forcing the slime into her throat.

She tried to raise a hand to wave away the disturbance, but her hand wouldn't respond. This sent a wave of alarm through her, she struggled to move, but her body felt disconnected, a suit of armor too big and too heavy to wield.

More of the liquid oozed down her throat and into her tanks, refueling depleted systems and shoving her closer to consciousness.

_**XxxX**_

Sam drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, tapping out a random staccato that didn't belong to any song ever heard. John Mellencamp blared from the Camaro's speakers, "Come on baby, make it hurt so good."

Admonished, Sam dropped his hands to his lap. "Sorry 'Bee."

They had traveled all night, covering long, desolate stretches of highway, lonely places that allowed his mind to wonder. Sam still struggled with the fact that he had a family and that he would be a dad. He understood that he had a wife; Mikaela had been the only woman he had ever dated, and being together came easily, marriage was only a formality to them, but fatherhood… He had seen his wife's belly grow, he had gone with her to the doctor's appointments, heard the heart beat, assembled the baby furniture, but he couldn't fathom becoming a daddy, a father.

He had a wife and a child. These were adult responsibilities, and pressed against the warm upholstery of the Autobot, he felt like anything but an adult. He didn't know what to do, how to respond, or what to think. He doubted that he could have made the drive without Bumblebee, and would have wound up in a ditch or lost. His emotions bounced erratically. Pride swelled in him at the thought of being a new parent, but then fear would crash down upon him when he realized he had no clue how to be a new parent. Love for his wife blossomed in his chest when he thought about her, but guilt for being absent when she needed him, shrank it away. He felt useless and adrift.

He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the oily grime from too many miles and not enough stops. He forced his mind to still, he had run circles inside his head all night and noting would change. He just needed to "man-up" and deal with it, whatever "it" might be. Easier said than done.

Reaching over, he picked up a waxy cup and sucked on the straw. A few drops of diluted Pepsi coated his tongue. With a sigh, he balanced the cup on top of the paper sack in the passenger seat; the greasy remains of half a dozen fast food wrappers threatened to topple over and spill into the Autobot. Food functioned as his security on the trip, he ate to occupy himself and keep his hands busy.

"When will be there?" He resumed tapping a cadence on the steering wheel even though no music played.

"Very soon," Bumblebee replied, not a song or sound bite, but the mech's seldom heard true voice.

Sam stopped tapping and laid his head against the cold, glass window. Around them, traffic thickened, more cars moved along the roadway, anonymous people caught up in their own joys and dramas. The night sky bleed into a dreary gray, and the vibration of his friend's engine offered him some comfort. He knew that he could not have made it this far without 'Bee. Without Bumblebee, he would never have had the opportunity to even be with Mikaela, much less worry about their child. He stopped long enough to give the steering wheel a loving caress, and the Autobot responded with a metallic purr.

Within a few minutes, the lights of the mega city sparkled before them. Billboards along the roadway tantalized the motorist. Scantily clad women and exotic animals beckoned the viewer, spinning tempting dreams to be won at the lay of a card or the roll of the dice. None of glitz and glamour interested him, he only wanted to find his wife, and hold her, making sure that she was all right.

Still on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Bumblebee turned off I-15 and headed north around the city. Sam absently watched the blur of businesses and homes, here he was in Sin City, and he didn't care. At the tender age of twenty-two, he felt old, forced to give up his youth and careless frivolity. He stood on the front-lines of an intergalactic war; a war very few knew existed. He had heard Optimus warn that the peace would not last and that the Decepticons would eventually begin another assault. But what was "eventually" to beings that appeared immortal by human standards? One year to them was a single human lifetime, a generation born and gone. But he still wasn't ready for any of it, he didn't think he would ever be ready for the responsibility that fell on his shoulders.

He couldn't see the Strip, but he knew that the lights there flickered and glowed during the day, a continuous adventure to explore at any hour. Perhaps he and Mickey should try to spend a weekend here. Play the tourist and see the fantasy of Vegas before a volley of alien ammunition leveled it, darkening the lights forever.

When did he begin seeing the world like this? When did the future go from one huge opportunity to something that might never happen? He had never worried about the future before. He didn't remember thinking like this a year ago. He sure as hell, didn't think like this in high school. Sam sat in silence and tried to think back to the exact moment he started thinking like his parents, agreeing with all of the phobic warnings they had continually suffocated him with.

He jerked, when the realization slammed into him. He started worrying for the future when he learned that Micky was pregnant, that she carried his child and that small, unborn being was going to be his responsibility. He was going to have to protect and provide for a tiny little life, a fragile, little being that couldn't walk or talk. He felt his eyes well up with tears. He understood that he feared the future, not for himself, but for his child. He wanted to call his Dad and tell him… Sam didn't know what he wanted to tell his Dad, they had talked so little in the last couple of years, but he felt as if he understood his parents now. He could finally see that much of their weird behavior made some sort of twisted sense. He smiled wistfully and wiped sentimental tears from his cheek.

The face of a child pressed against the window of the car next to him. The smooth face and rosy cheeks held wide staring eyes. The little boy waved to him, and Sam listlessly waved back, his heart heavy, his mind distracted. As he moved his hand back and forth, he realized that his head was resting against one hand and the other waggled in the air. Quickly, he straightened his posture and clamped both hands onto 'Bee's steering wheel, but the world around him meant little as his worries and fears consumed almost all of his attention

With his hands locked onto the steering wheel, his foot took up the task of tapping nervously against the Autobot's floorboard. Time crawled to a stop as buildings blurred passed them and his friend effortlessly wove in and out of traffic. Sam perked up, and took note of his surroundings when Bumblebee left the loop and merged onto a smaller thoroughfare. This was that part of Vegas few tourists bothered visiting. Little houses sat snuggled together, only a few feet of barren, sandy lawns separated them. Simple Nissans and Fords waited in the drives and along the streets. No high-rollers lived here, just working-class families and retirees. No one in this neighborhood received the turndown service or chocolate mints on their pillows at night.

Sam absently watched the suburbs pass by as 'Bee negotiated the streets, picking the fastest route to the Hospital. Sam trusted his friend to make the right choices and didn't second-guess the Autobot, even when it seemed like they were doubling back.

They had to be getting close, he could almost feel Mikaela's presence, and the need to see her, to touch her overwhelmed him. He fidgeted and fretted. His fingers picked at the trim along the door panel, then his hand found its way to his mouth and he chewed on a cuticle. A large red-bricked building loomed out of nowhere, the white letters on the side proclaimed "Summerlin Memorial Hospital". His foot tapped faster in anticipation.

As Bumblebee followed the streets, the multi-story building disappeared behind trees, billboards and other structures. Sam twisted in his seat to keep the hospital in view, it contained the thing that he held most dear, and he couldn't let it out of his sight.

A blue sign with a large white "H" emblazoned on it pointed down a service road. Sam willed his friend to drive faster. His impatientness became unbearable, a living thing that poked and prodded him, making him want to move and squirm, tempted to jump out of the Camaro and run the rest of the way to the hospital.

Bee revved his engine and blew through a yellow light before it turned red, his tires squealing around a corner. The Autobot then slowed and rolled over a speed bump, and it took all of Sam's will to not stomp on the gas peddle. Ahead of them loomed the hospital, and Sam's stomach flipped over, his heart hammering in his throat.

The parking lot stretched forever and Bumblebee crawled along the rows of cars, stopping for pedestrians and other vehicles, politely giving them the right-of-way. Sam looked among the rows of cars for a familiar form, and there parked off to side, a garish lime green and red ambulance sat, flashing his headlights at them. Then, Ratchet pulled out of his parking spot, and made his way towards the street, leaving them.

Sam twisted in his seat, watching the larger Autobot disappear into the traffic. "Where's he going?"

"Home, where my thoughts escape me. Home, where my music's playing," a duet sang, their harmony filled the air inside of the Autobot.

Sam flopped back into the bucket seat. "He's leaving, but what if we need him? What if Mikaela needs him?"

The radio snapped off, leaving the soft rumble of Bumblebee's engine as the only noise. "Ratchet is needed at the base." The Autobot's voice held tense, worried tones.

Anxiety tightened in Sam's chest, and he resumed tapping on the Camaro's steering wheel. He didn't ask "why" or "what is happening". In a selfish way, he didn't want to know. He had enough to contend with right now, and sometimes it was better to leave the giant robot issues to the giant robots.

'Bee pulled under the awning that hung over the front doors to the Hospital. Sam grabbed the sack of trash, and bolted. His feet hit the concrete before the Autobot had time to stop completely. Running towards the entrance, his heart pounded alarmingly and he could hear his pulse in his ears. With a shaky hand, he tossed the garbage into a trashcan, and turned sideways to shimmy through the automatic doors, not waiting for them to completely open.

Behind him, a lone male voice crooned loudly, "Where ever you go, whatever you do I'll be right here waiting for you."

_**XxxX**_

The air hung thick and heavy in central ops, an oppressive atmosphere accentuated by deep shadows and the stark displays of Teletraan-1. Green glyphs, scrolled across the computer's screens, their reflections cast onto blue and red armor, a living tattoo that slid across the Prime's form. The massive figure stood slump-shouldered, with his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted downward, and his optics taking the data that glowed before him.

Every being he had passed, whether mech or human, felt the chill of his suppressed fury creep up their spines or spinal assemblies. For the humans, millions of years of survival instincts awoke; ancestral memories of running across icy slopes, eluding powerful predators pressed against conscious, rational thought, making them nervous and uncertain around the normally benevolent Autobot. The mechs read the electrical field that zapped and crackled around the Prime; they felt the raw power emanating from volatile emotions, and stayed their distance. Members of both species attempted to avoid the formidable Autobot as he stalked the corridors of his Earthly home.

Only one stayed beside him. A shadow-hued warrior that, over eons, had grown accustomed to the deep and pure emotions that swirled and raged within the Prime. Ironhide watched as Optimus struggled to make sense of what had transpired, to understand how the events unfolded, and how his mate had become a Decepticon prisoner. The ancient mech understood that the Prime needed to work through the weight of unfettered hopelessness, fear and grief before addressing the rest of the Autobots, to find some way to choke down the facts and move forward. Ironhide kept a close vigil on his leader, a silent witness ready to intervene if need be.

Without turning or shifting, the Prime addressed his friend and bodyguard. "How long?"

Ironhide lifted his head. "Ratchet should arrive within two cycles, but he has reported that he has a device Wheeljack needs to analyze. Perhaps a cycle after he returns Prowl will begin the debriefing."

The Prime nodded, and continued staring at the computer displays.

_**XxxX**_

Sam ran his finger down the Plexiglas case that protected the extensive list of hospital departments, looking for something to do with babies… newborns… births… _Delivery, fifth floor! _He spun and bumped into an elderly man tottering along on this walker.

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders to make sure that the ancient human didn't fall over. "Sorry," he mumbled as he scooted around both man and metal support, his eyes locked on the sign proclaiming "Elevators".

He followed the sign around the corner and down the hall, his steps quick and sure. His pace fast enough that he missed the alcove hiding the elevators and had to back track when he reached the Emergency Department. Annoyed with himself he stabbed the "up" button with his finger and stepped back to wait for one of the arrows to illuminate over one of the four elevators. A full second ticked by and the indicators remained dark. He jabbed the button again, and looked up. Nothing. Sam poked the innocuous button several more times, his whole body tense.

"You can't force the damn things to go faster."

Sam jumped at the sound of the voice. It cut through his internal ranting and jarred him back to reality. He whipped his head around to see the old man with the walker, clouded, weepy eyes stared at him with patient humor.

Sam looked up and then back at the old man; his hands twitched nervously as he gestured towards the elevator. He shoved them in his pants pocket. "Yeah." His eyes wandered towards the dim indicators over each elevator. "Yeah. Mickey… my wife… I call her Mickey even though Mickey is a guy's name but she isn't a guy she is a girl a really pretty girl well not a girl a woman she hates it when I go on about how pretty she is especially when she has grease smeared on her face and under her nails..." Sam realized that he was yammering uncontrollably and abruptly stopped talking.

A pleasant, tonal "ding" sounded behind him, announcing the arrival of an elevator car. Remembering his manners, he motioned for the old man to go first.

The senior citizen shook his head. "You go on. I prefer the peace and quiet."

Sam felt the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and dropped his head. He mumbled, "Thank you" and boarded the elevator. As the doors close, he caught a glimpse of the old man leaning on his walker and rolling his eyes absurdly.

The slow ascent did nothing to sooth Sam's already jittery nerves. The confined solitude and pointlessly happy music that filtered around him only tightened his already constricted chest and his foot to tap faster and faster. He started to pace as the need to see her, to hold her and smell her hair, to protect her from anything that might harm her, became more than he could handle. He felt as if his chest would implode and squeeze his heart until it couldn't beat anymore. His breath came fast and shallow, and hyperventilating posed a real threat. He forced his foot to stop, sucked in a deep lungful of air, and slowly released it through his nostrils. Passing out in the elevator wouldn't make him a very decent father and husband.

The elevator jerked to a stop and dropped a coupe of inches before the doors calmly opened. Sam counted to three before he stepped out and found himself greeted by the image of a cartoon stork cradling a rosy-cheeked, cartoon baby with a perfectly circular head. One white, feathered wing pointed down the hall. Sam's momentary resolve shattered and he bolted, running and dodging around the other people in the hallway.

Halfway to the nurses' desk, he realized he had no idea which room Mikaela was in. He slowed his headlong pace and started glancing at the doors, hoping to see names posted on them. There were brackets to hold… something and numbers, but no names. Frustration fluttered within his chest. He pivoted and headed towards the nurses desk, only to find a couple of women watching him with suspicious, guarded eyes. He forced his face into something that he hoped resembled a smile and not a snarl.

Sam walked towards the desk, his fingers twitching spasmodically, threatening to spoil his farce of rational calmness. He tucked his hands into his pants pockets, hiding them and leaned against the desk. One of the nurses, a short brunette with severely cut hair and pale skin, smiled back at him. Her companion, an older woman, glanced pointedly at a uniformed security guard sitting in a chair off to the side.

Sam swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He tried to ask for his wife, but all that came from him sounded like the squeak of an injured mouse, "I…" He cleared this throat and tried again. "I am looking for my wife, Mikaela Banes-Witwicky."

Both nurses jerked as if shocked. The younger one pointlessly shuffled some papers while looking at her the older one. "Um…," she stammered, obviously unsure of herself.

The older nurse looked towards the guard reading a magazine. "Bruno, can you come here."

The guard stood up and his hand slipped to his duty belt. Sam blew a nervous puff of air from his mouth, and his hand slipped from his pocket and started drumming on the desk. He air around the nurse's station became tense, a silent standoff. Sam couldn't figure out what he did, he just asked for his wife.

The younger nurse smiled nervously at him, and laid a clipboard on the desk in front of him. "I need to see some ID."

Sam didn't return her smile as he patted his pockets looking for his wallet, his eyes flicking towards the guard that stood off to the side. A massive revolver sat snug in a holster on the man's hip, and Sam's gaze lingered on the weapon before traveling back up to the guard's frowning face. He continued to pat his pockets, the started pulling the contents out of them: a smattering of change, a paper clip, some wads of fuzz, a tube of Chap Stick, the receipt for a burger… but no wallet. He remembered that he had left it in 'Bee's glove box, the only place that Autobots don't mind letting their riders store stuff.

He smiled sheepishly at the nurse, ducking his head in boyish embarrassment. "I… um… left it in my car. But if you would just tell me, which room my wife is in and if she and the baby are fine, I will run back out and get it. Please." He attempted to pout and charm his way past, but charm had never been a Witwicky trait.

The nurse's smile tightened a little and her eyes narrowed in a less than friendly expression. "I need to see some ID. We do not allow just anybody to wander around up here. That would be unsafe for our patients."

A man walked by the nurses' desk, he wore dirty coveralls, bald headed, silver earrings and a tattooed neck. The stranger had to stand over six feet five inches and the crease between his eyebrows came from permanent frowning. He spoke into his cell phone; rumble of his voice carried the sounds to Sam. "Which room is Tish in?" The man then nodded and closed the flap on his phone. The walked down the hall and entered a room unhindered.

Sam turned back to the nurses, glaring. Hours of frustration, fear and the lack of sleep caught up to him. "He didn't have to sign in! Where is my wife? Why can't I see her?"

The guard stepped closer, and Sam held his hands up. "Don't. I just want to see my wife. I have been on the road all night to get here and I want to know where Mikaela is!" He yelled the last, angry and fed up with the runaround that he had received.

The guard stopped a few feet away, and Sam took a step backwards. The older nurse stood and addressed him, "Sir, you are upset. Just calm down and we will sort this out. You don't want Bruno to have to remove you. Do you?"

"Sam?" The familiar voice cut into Samuel James Witwicky. It sounded in his heart and vibrated in his soul, dissolving his fear and igniting primal, protective instincts.

Sam looked round the guard to see a figure standing in a partially open doorway, the long dark hair, the richly tanned skin and the blue eyes glaring at him with annoyance. He didn't think he just reacted and tried to run past Bruno, his only thought was to sweep his wife up in his arms and hold her.

He made it all of four steps before an arm shot out, catching him across the chest, stopping him, but his feet continued forward and he landed on his back, knocking the air out of him. He had been clothes-lined.

A shriek split the air and he could hear people shouting. Brilliant stars exploded across his vision and he gulped air, trying to refill his lungs. A hand grabbed the front of his shirt and attempted to flip him over, and he struggled weakly. The metallic clicks of handcuffs underscored raised voices and Mikaela's panicked shouts. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, a living thing squirming against his hip. Then the cold hard edge of handcuffs disappeared and someone flipped him onto his back again. The chaos around him didn't make sense as a hand pressed against his throat and a light shone in one eye then another. A dark face wearing and even darker frown consumed his entire field of vision and Sam blinked twice to make it focus correctly.

"Stand Down!" A deep voice cracked the air like a whip, and all movement and sound ceased.

The face retreated and hands grabbed him and lifted him to his feet; the world swam alarmingly before it corrected itself. He desperately looked for his wife. Just a glimpse of her, anything to let him know she was safe. He found her. A man in a white coat held her by the shoulders, his body blocking her as he talked to her, tears streamed down her face, but determination burned in her eyes. Then Sam noticed the silver IV stand and the tubes connecting her to the clear bags hanging from it. His knees gave out.

Arms wrapped around his chest and held him upright. "No, you don't. Stand up, and show some dignity."

Sam struggled to get his feet under him and stand on his own two legs. The arms wrapped around his chest loosened and disappeared, but a hand held onto his elbow, keeping him stable. He glanced over his shoulder to find a man in desert fatigues standing near him and another between the hospital guard and everyone else. Sam didn't care; he just wanted his wife, and with staggering steps, he made his way towards Mikaela.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked at her. Her hair was matted and greasy, she didn't wear any makeup and dark circles discolored the skin underneath her eyes. The blue hospital gown bulged around her abdomen, the hem stopping at the middle of her knees, but to Sam she was the most beautiful sight in the world. He made his way towards her and pushed past the doctor to wrap her in his arms. She smelled like sweat, stale perfume and her. He breathed her in, letting the hours of tension and fear melt away.

"Are you ok?" he whispered in her ear. "Is the baby ok?"

She pulled away from him and placed his hand on her tight belly. "We're both fine."

"So, is Spot still cooking?"

She stiffened in his arms. "No, Sam. I got bored and decided to make another baby, and we are not going to name _her_ Spot."

He smiled and pulled her to him. "Fine, I like Rover better."

Mikaela's hand snaked up his chest and grabbed hold of his nipple through his shirt, pinching and twisting painfully. He yelped, but accepted his punishment. Assured that his family was safe, he shot a pointed glare at the guard. "Nice people skills. Do they let you trip little old women too?"

The guard lunged forward, but a soldier blocked the larger man, and Sam smirked. Sometimes it was not whom you know, but whom you have on your team. He turned his newfound sense of cock-sureness towards the doctor. "Is this how you treat visitors?"

"Sam, let it go," Mikaela begged.

The doctor in the white coat moved behind Mikaela, his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her away from Sam. "Mrs. Witwicky needs do lie down. She shouldn't even be out of bed and this needs to be moved somewhere more private."

Sam glared at the doctor for trying to take his wife from him. "No. What the hell is going on?"

The Doctor stepped back and looked Sam up and down, his dark, tired eyes scrutinizing, searching. Finally, he sighed, and in a lowered voice said, "Several people with cameras have tried to obtain access to your wife and then we have received anonymous phone calls threatening the life of your 'freak baby', to quote the caller. We have stepped up security to protect everyone."

Sam's blood ran cold. The thought of some xenophobic wack-job harming his family scared him. An alien attack was one thing, but vengeful humans…

One of the soldiers stepped forward and Sam finally notice the man's uniform and rank. He spent so much time around service men and women that he had become accustomed to their presence and it took him a few minutes to wonder what they were doing in a civilian hospital.

The Corporal stood with rigid formality, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, face expressionless. "Dr. Brunhick, Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, I am Corporal Hansen. Have been sent to move the patient, Mrs. Witwicky…" He nodded slightly towards Mikaela. "To a secured location."

"No!" snapped the doctor. "I refuse to release my patient, this is a civilian hospital and you have no jurisdiction here. We have the best staff, resources and equipment to handle this situation."

A uniformed man arrived, his eyes scanning over the contents of a manila file-folder. He didn't look up as he spoke. "I can assure you that your patient will receive the best of care." He closed the file and looked up, a congenial smile on his face. "Dr. Brunhick, it is in the best interest of all the people at this hospital for us to remove the Witwickies from the premises. I have personally made sure that any hacks into the hospital mainframe will show that Mrs. Witwicky has been released and is no longer here."

The doctor puffed his chest out, and crossed his arms, looking as if ready to do battle. Sam wondered if this was a case of over inflated pride or actually concern for Mikaela and the baby. He reached out and grabbed his wife's hand. Mickey looked at him, her features tight with apprehension.

She looked at Dr. Brunhick. "I need to go with them. If my being here is a threat, then it makes sense for me not be here. It's OK. I know that Sam and 'Bee won't let anything happen."

Sam watched as another, un-named soldier, carrying a clipboard, pulled a plastic bag from one of his pockets and entered Mikaela's room. He could hear drawers being opened and shut and doors being opened and closed. He glared at the Corporal. "Who ordered the move?" he asked.

Hansen blinked, but his stance and posture didn't change. "A large acquaintance of yours has asked that all… associates be moved for their own protection. I was also told to inform you, that NBEs Bumblebee and Huffer are to accompany us."

_**XxxX**_

The myriad of gyroscopes and sensors dedicated to balance and equilibrium on-lined first, followed by the delicate network of pressure and temperature sensors that blanketed her armor. Her torso rested higher than her hips, supported, propped up. Warmth radiated around her, encasing and comforting her. She rested like this, semi-aware and content. Her body's systems slowly rebooted, and her surroundings come to her in snips.

What she reclined against shifted. Something trailed along her helm, caressing, soothing. She sighed, enjoying the gentle strokes. Something… a hand perhaps, forced her head back and more of the sludge trickled into her mouth. It smelled horrible, a repulsive mix of gasoline, plastics and raw ores, but hunger fluttered in her tanks. She desperately needed the fuel, so she didn't struggle, accepting the low-grade energon. Approving clicks registered in her audios.

Velocity tried to online her optics, and brutal pain stabbed the side of her head. She whimpered, and then soft words whispered in her audios. In High Iaconian, a melodious voice asked her to stay calm and remain still. The voice said more, but she couldn't translate it, exhaustion and weakness lagged her processor and made thinking an effort. She relaxed, slipping below consciousness.

She drifted in and out of recharge; her frame greedily sucked the meager energy from the energon and converted it into materials needed to repair her wounds. Systems clicked on and off, attempting to stabilize. Subroutines assessed damage, calculating what she required to keep functioning. Her processor lagged. The energy for sensory analysis sacrificed and rerouted to the body, leaving her floating along in a half-awake dream. But her processor did work, with begrudged slowness it made connections and stored data.

She sighed and snuggled her cheek against the living metal. With immense effort, she raised a hand and laid it on a chest plate. The deep rumble of a chuckle vibrated through her.

In perfect English, a mech spoke, "It appears that my effort won't go to waste." Humor tinted the unknown voice, as did something else she couldn't define.

She onlined her optics again and brilliant light seared away the darkness, lancing through her head. She winced and whined, burying her face into the mech's chest plates. A hand caressed the back of her helm and alien words floated down to her. She understood a couple of them, something about "check" or "see", but the rest sounded incomprehensible, a static, garbled noise. The hand cupped the back of her head, gently tugging, trying to make her turn it. She refused, the light hurt. Fingers wrapped around one of her short audio horns and yanked her head back. She gasped in pain and surprise. A blurry mass filled her visual field.

She closed the shutters on her optics, wanting to block out the bright, excruciating light. The mech growled a threat in High Iaconian, then repeated it in English. "Open your shutters, you do not want me to open them for you."

Velocity complied, opening the protective shields, enduring burning agony. Her lenses whirled rapidly, attempting to focus, but every adjustment hurt and within seconds they froze. Data transmission stopped, a still, blurred image filled her visual sensors, the wash of colors fading to black and white.

She sucked air into her intakes and they rattled violently, then stalled. She couldn't breathe. She tried again to pull cool air through her intakes and failed, something blocked the flow. Panic started bloom within her, she struggled and found herself pinned.

"Stop it!" the mech roared. "You will only injure yourself further." Aggravation deepened the voice, but it also held a frigid note.

She strained against her bonds; hearing, and understanding, but not caring about the words. Her systems attempted to reroute power to her hypercoils and weapons, but her auto-repair refused to shut down, choking her entire form. She shook, then collapsed against the mech, exhausted and vanquished by her own body, as her auto-repair protocol continued to drain energy from the rest of her, hurrying to mend damage.

The mech held her tightly and a full breem passed before he loosened his grip on her body, but kept his fingers wrapped around her audio horn. With infinite care he tipped her head back. Two hazy, blue points of light filled her visions. The images jumped and rolled chaotically, reminding her of the days of rabbit-ear antennas and crappy television reception.

"It appears that the lens in your left optic have shattered." The voice sounded unconcerned, even annoyed.

A finger tapped the left side of her head, sending shock waves of agony rippling through her. She whined and tried to move away, but the tight hold on her audio horn kept her head firmly in place. Sounds of a transformation filled her audios, reminding her of when Ratchet traded his hand for delicate tools during examinations. Fingers splayed across her face then shoved her head sideways, pinning her against the mech's chest. She registered pressure at her temple, the prick of a sharp point. The prick became the slice of a thin blade slipping between her facial plates. White hot agony filled her head and static laced her vision, then darkness. The speed and unexpectedness shocked her, she didn't even have time to think about fighting. She lay in his arms trembling, helpless and thoughts of how fast this mech could kill her floated at the back of her consciousness.

"Online your visual sensors, they need to reboot." The voice ordered with cold indifference

She did as told, sending the command for her optics to online and waited for the pain. It never came. Her visual sensors booted, lenses turned, focusing and filters adjusted the amount and wavelength of light that reached the sensitive refractors in the back of her optics. She blinked, only one optic worked, nothing registered from the other one, leaving her blind on the right side and throwing off her depth perception.

She stiffened. "What did you do?" Her voice sounded weak to her audios.

She heard more sounds of mechanical transformation, and tried to look around, but he kept her pinned against him. "Don't move," he snapped. "I have severed the connections to your damaged sensor, and you need a click or so to register the change, compensate, and isolate the useless data transmitters ."

Her pump pounded in her chest. "Why?" Heady fear wavered in that single word.

The mech paused. He didn't answer her question for a full minute. Instead he trailed his fingers down her arm, and to her hand. He laced his fingers over hers, his thumb making small circles in her palm. "Readings from the damaged optic clogged your relays, preventing the intact optic from functioning. It is the same as when a mech is damaged in battle and he discards a weapon or rips off the injured limb because the data stream is either corrupted or is so confusing that it hampers his responses." The bite of aggravation left his voice, replaced by a trace of humor.

Wedged between his armor and hand she could only see his chest and a hint of his shoulder. Slowly, she tried to turn her head, but he held her fast. She pressed her cheek against his hand. He relented, but cradled her face while she turned her head and looked up.

She gave a little startled gasp. He was beautiful. The sun caught the edges of his facial plates, setting the pale silver aglow. Blue optics looked at her with an intensity that made her want to turn away. He smirked at her, and she realized her mouth hung open. She quickly closed it with an audible clank.

Velocity couldn't stop staring at him, the lines and angles of his face were beyond aesthetic, they were artistic. From the cut of his jaw to the angled crest of his helm, the silver mech exemplified painful perfection and symmetry. In the presence of such a resplendent refinement of form and color, she felt gaudy, ugly. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Her pump stuttered and skipped in her chest. Cold fear dissipated into the pleasing warmth of more intimate emotions.

He leaned toward her, his optics searching her face, the corner of her mouth quirked upward in a tiny smile. They were so close, if she wanted to she could easily close the distance between them and kiss him.

He slowly trailed his fingers along the side of her face, tickling her, and she smiled.

The mech tilted his head to the side, his vocals clicked on. "Do you not remember me?" He purred, his voice deep and rich; a reminder of decadence, chocolate and sex.

Her internal temperature rose a little, and she tried to push aside the carnal thoughts that only Optimus should occupy. "Should I remember you? Did you save my life or something?" Her voice held sultry purr that surprised even her.

The silver mech laughed, the vibrations shook her. "Or something. So little femme, what do the Autobots call you?" He relaxed, shifting her in his arms, cradling her like a child. He looked at her again, smiling. Mirth and darker things twinkled in his cool, blue optics.

Something in his words struck her as odd, but lust clouded her unease. He had done nothing to warrant such suspicion. "They call me Velocity. What's your name?"

The mech shrugged, confident humor lighting his features. "Hardcore. You really don't remember me?" He pouted a little.

She wiggled, and tucked her arms between her chest and his, snuggling, seeking comfort. A frown pressed her facial plates together, suspicion returned. Her processor fought to sort things out, but nothing made sense. She craned her neck to look at the mech. "What's happened?"

His expression changed to one of seriousness, his arms, tightened around her. "What is the last thing you do remember?"

She thought. Disordered memories popped up, she and Optimus alone, in a heated moment. Ratchet yelling at her for Gods-knows what, but she couldn't fathom what she had done. She and Reggie sitting in the hallway, joking, but she didn't know why they were there. Many other images played along her mind's-eye, but none of them contained any reference to being newer or older. She could see her father, but couldn't recall where she grew up. She could see Prowl, but didn't remember meeting him for the first time.

Unease bled into worry. She had memories, but… something was wrong. Some of them lacked any reference, just random images devoid of any context. When she tried to remember events she knew she had experienced, she could recall some with acute clarity and others, nothing. Her fragmented memories couldn't tell her how she wound up in this mech's arms.

She looked fearfully at Hardcore. "I don't remember."

He regarded her coldly, his other arm wrapped around her, pressing her against him, pinning her. She realized she couldn't move if she had wanted to. Nervous tension spread along her body. He glared at her, his optics burned through her, his facial plates shifting to express suppressed anger. "What can you remember?" he growled at her. "Do you remember the code to access your base, or the layout?"

She thought about what he asked and nodded. "I can remember those things."

The mech sighed, then offered her a sumptuous smile. "Good. You were cornered and attacked by a group of Decepticons. One of them fired an EMP round into you, and I am wondering if it has slagged some of your relays. Your damaged optic and difficulty accessing your memory files could be a direct result of a blown diode or two. Your intakes were punctured, and the filters clogged with debris. I have patched them as well as I can, but you will need the skills of a medic to fully clean and repair them. As long as you do not exert yourself, you shouldn't overheat.

"Also, our energon rations are very restricted, and I have shared some of mine with you to keep you from going into stasis lock, but do not expect much more than what is needed to keep you barely functioning."

His optics covered her with their cold light, as she digested the news. The tension in her hypercoils evaporated and she sagged in his arms. She tried to remember what had happened, but only found a void of nothing. Shock settled over her, she turned inward and found Optimus. He brushed against her, soothing and pulling. He desperately wanted her with him and she wanted to be with him, wrapped in his arms, nestled against him.

Her voice cracked with static, "I want to go home." She looked at Hardcore, silently pleading with him.

The silver mech stared past her, beyond and behind her. "It wouldn't be safe, the enemy would want to engage anyone they crossed."

He caressed her, clicking softly, comforting her. She believed him, he had saved her life. She relaxed against him, and his electrical field enveloped her, not pushing or tugging at her, but just moving along hers in acceptance. She turned an audio to his chest, listening to the slow thump of another pump, a larger pump. The steady thrum became the center of her universe, convincing her that she was safe, that nothing would harm her. How many recharge cycles had she lay, listening to a pump, but one with a slower rhythm, a deeper timbre? This pump pulsed too fast, an unfamiliar cadence, but it would do. She shuttered her optics and relaxed into the beat of another pump.

_**XxxX**_

He stood in the conference room with those closest to him, and he felt as if the cosmos separated them. They couldn't understand the depth and power of the emotions that roiled within him, and how difficult it was to act as if what had happened did not affect him. He hid behind a mask of neutrality, covering his turmoil with stoic indifference, but the longer the worry and fear tore at him the harder it became to control himself. He was slipping, spiraling down the same twisted chasm that had consumed his brother's sanity.

Velocity awoke, and he turned towards her. Confusion rippled across their bond. Confusion and uncertainty, but not panic or terror. Confusion blended with awe and the flutter of desire. He purposefully ignored the implications of the latter emotion. He easily dismissed it as part of her organic nature, which he had accepted when he bonded with her. The enemy had her, an enemy known for cruelty and torture. He expected her, wanted her to use every means at her disposal to survive. If she had to be come a plaything to them, then so be it, but that would only last so long. They would toy with her, until they became bored with that game, then… then, she would suffer, and he would have to endure, sharing her pain, unable to save her.

Guilt twisted his spark. Guilt and fear that he had made some grievous error, had failed, leaving her to pay the price. He wondered if Primus had judged him unworthy and this, his punishment for failing as a Prime.

Prowl's words echoed in his audios, senseless noises that disturbed his concentration. He shouldn't be here. His mechs needed a leader and he had nothing to offer, standing distracted and useless amongst them. He didn't want to hear their words, or see the looks in their optics, they already considered Velocity a loss, even if none of them actually voiced that belief.

His second led the meeting, forming strategies and listening to the others' input. They discussed trying to locate and rescue his mate, but even he knew that course of action would only end in death. The Decepticons would see them coming and either abandon their stronghold or defend it, either way they would terminate Velocity, and as many Autobots as they could. But first, they would have to find the 'Cons and Earth offered millions of places for resourceful mechs to hide.

And what about the Earth's governments? He had probably shattered what little trust they had in him and the Autobots. Without considering the consequences, he had abandoned the meeting with Congress before even arriving, perhaps sealing Cosmos's fate. His impulsiveness may have undone everything that they had worked for. He rubbed his face with his hand, and regrettably, doubted he could have responded any differently.

Perhaps, all of his critics had been correct. Perhaps, being bonded clouded his judgment and made him weak. For eons, his detractors had pointed out that his bond with Elita undermined his ability to function as an unbiased leader, and hurled accusations that she came before Cybertron, and in a way, they had been correct. When he lost her, he lost all that mattered to him, and Cybertron had suffered. Now, history was set to repeat itself, but with a different planet, and he couldn't stop it. Would this finally prove his incompetence as Prime?

He glanced towards Prowl, there stood the Autobots' future. The tactician had the bearings to do what had to be done to win a war, emotions and sentiment would never influence that mech's decisions. Optimus decided that when the meeting adjured, he would quietly hand his leadership over to Prowl. No one else needed to know for now, that would only upset the others, most of all Ironhide, and they would need the weapon specialist's skills in the future.

He felt unease stir within Velocity, and mentally braced himself. He dreaded the moment she would figure out the truth of her situation, for the terror and paralyzing panic would consume him and tear apart his spark . She settled again, and he sighed with relief, wanting her beside him. If he had kept her beside him, then he could have protected her…

A hand touched his arm. Slowly, he turned and looked at Ironhide, palatable pity filled the dark mech's optics. Prime turned away, he didn't want pity, especially not from his friend.

The hand squeezed his arm. ::I know it's difficult, but focus.::

Optimus nodded and concentrated on the group, he let the force of their combined electrical fields pull him into the physical present. He didn't want to leave Velocity, but contentment flowed from her, she didn't need him at the moment.

Wheeljack stepped forward and the Prime turned his attention towards the mech. A tray balanced in the scientists hands, it contained the crushed remains of a device displayed for examination, its components carefully arranged. He forced himself to concentrate, to study what had been presented to him. Without a doubt, it had been of Cybertronian origin.

He picked up a fragment of the crystalline casing, watching it glitter in the artificial lighting as he turned it. Velocity would like the shiny fragments, she would try to make something comically useless, but aesthetically pleasing from them, something whimsical that would make him smile. He shook his head and laid the shard back on the tray. "Where did you find that?" he asked, ignoring the sidelong glances of the others.

Ratchet cast a furtive glance at him before speaking. "That is the device I found in the desert. It produced a fair sized null zone, blocking all electronic communications."

Wheeljack interrupted, "From what I can decipher, these little beauties are supposed to work in tandem with others. They are designed to blanket a region, negating all communication. I doubt they would use one singularly, and for that reason, I think that this one malfunctioned. But I cannot be certain, considering the condition that the device is in." Wheeljack leveled his gaze at his bondmate.

Ratchet stood in stoic silence.

Prowl crossed his arms over his chest, and frowned. "Wheeljack, what would you suggest?"

The scientist carefully sat the tray holding the enemy device on the balcony meant for humans. He turned back to the assembled group. "I would suggest attempting to find the rest of these and destroying them."

Optimus struggled, worry eroded his concentration. "How do we find them?"

The white mech looked at him with unaccustomed seriousness. "We can't. They lay dormant until a command pulse activates them. The Decepticons could be creating a small blackout area, or they could be covering the entire planet, there is no way to know until they activate the devices."

Optimus sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. What does this have to do with Velocity?" He shuttered his optics and let her emotions fill him, he had no way to know how much longer he would feel her move in his spark.

"Sir, I don't believe that Velocity was their intended target." Prowl said, his tone heavy, the words softly spoken.

Optimus opened his shutters and snapped his head towards the black and white mech, his hands curled into fists. "Explain."

The SIC handed him a data pad with dates, times and incidences clearly and chronologically mapped out. The first event listed: the theft of Agent Simmons's laptop.

"I didn't see any correlations at first, sir, but we were looking at the wrong areas for Decepticon activity. We assumed that they would come for us, open, boldly, and they would have done so, under Megatron's rule." The mech paused. "But with Soundwave heading the Earth bound Decepticons…"

"Get on with it," Prime snapped. He needed to know what happened and why his mate had been targeted.

Prowl nodded slightly to his leader. "Then Anthony Melby disappeared. The time span didn't seem right, so I looked into everyone of the humans that work with us. Almost half have reported thefts of personal effects, namely computers, PDAs and cell phones. On a hunch I contacted the police in Brooklyn and asked them to conduct a wellness check on Agent Simmons's. That proved some difficulty since his name is not on the records for any address, I had to contact Banachek for information, and he…"

Optimus narrowed his optics at his SIC. Prowl loved nothing more than to solve a difficult puzzle, but right now the why's and where-fores didn't matter.

The tactician blinked and continued quickly, "The police found his apartment ransacked. He never mentioned this, nor made a police report, so we can assume that it happened while he was here and didn't know. Optimus, I do not think that Velocity was their target. I think Agent Simmons was."

Optimus read over the report. Every day a new member of their team had their home or car vandalized, and electronics stolen. It had started with Simmons's computer and ended with Simmons himself. "Why?"

At his question, the tactician blinked. "I do not know."

A weighted silence filled the room around the mechs, each consumed with his own thoughts. Optimus crossed his arms over his chest, and shuttered his optics. Part of him had hoped that the Decepticons had abducted Velocity as part of a plan, but it seems that she had been nothing more than an opportunity. He sighed, and pushed away the building anger, his frame shuddered with the effort. They took her because they could, and for no other reason. He had seen Hound's report, the tracker believed that they had hit her with an EMP, offlining her, keeping her alive, giving him a sliver of hope. Hope that the 'Cons would use her to lure him out, to use her as ransom, for… something, anything. Now… now they would surely terminate her once they had their fun.

He muted his vocals against the moan that attempted to escape him. He didn't want to be here, he wanted the solitude of his quarters, anyplace he could shut down and focus on her.

The muffled fall of running feet echoed on the hard floor, growing increasingly louder as they approached. He ignored the noise, the annoyances.

The human sized door to the conference room swung open; slamming hard against the wall, and Epps ran into the room his cell phone against his ear. "Hold on. I want you to repeat that to the big guy." The man pushed a button on the phone then held it in the air. "Now, Paul," he said in a raised voice.

The tiny, muted voice of an unknown human filtered from the speaker. It started with a nervous waver, but quickly grew in confidence. "Good afternoon, sirs. At around oh-seven hundred hours, a man fitting the description of Special Agent Reginald Simmons, and with his credentials, was life-flighted to the Flagstaff Memorial Hospital from a smaller hospital in... Supai, Arizona on the Havasupai Indian Reservation. Police have a man named Michael Rainwater detained and are questioning him."

Prowl knelt closer to the phone. "What is Simmons's condition?"

The sound of rustling papers came from the phone. "I don't have that information. Most likely, the hospital isn't releasing it yet… at least not over the phone."

"And why are the police detaining this Michael Rainwater?" Prowl asked.

Epps answered, "Because he showed up to the hospital with an injured federal agent and no one liked his story about giant robots."

Prowl, look up at Prime "Hound is still in the field. I can send him to investigate."

Optimus nodded. Prowl asked his approval, a sign of respect, but chances were very good that the SIC had already contacted the tracker and sent him his new orders.

**XxxX**

Her new companion had made sure she had consumed the rest of the energon, stating that rations were scarce and that she wouldn't be allowed much. She dismissed this without comment, the Autobots closely monitored their fuel consumption and rarely took more than they needed, but she knew of a growing stockpile of energon. There would be more later, Hardcore had to be… mistaken.

She had refueled enough that most, but not all, of her systems had onlined. She still felt weak, shaky, and needed more energon to replace her empty reserves, but this would suffice, for now.

She dozed contentedly, her body automatically switched to a lower functioning level to conserve energy. She could easily override this dreamy state, but why bother? An exquisite mech held her wrapped in his arms, his hand slowly petting her head. No one bothered them and she doubted anyone knew where they hid. She sighed contentedly, and he shifted. She had pestered him with questions, but he had shushed her, commenting that they needed to keep conversation to a minimum. She had then responded with a chuckle, reminding him about their internal comms. Hardcore didn't look down at her when he informed her that her communications array had been disabled.

Turning her head, she gazed beyond his embrace with her remaining optic. The building that sheltered them should be on the Super Fund list. Trash and toppled stacks of wooden pallets littered the floor, and in one corner, what looked like automobile batteries lay busted, their hazardous contents long since leaked out and evaporated. The walls and roof looked to be galvanized steel, rust and age had chewed holes through the metal, letting the afternoon sun pierce the shadowed interior like spears. Nearby a rodent squeaked, its tiny, clawed feet scraped against something hard. This place reeked too. Raw sewage mingled with the stench of fetid meat and the sharp whang of hydrochloric acid, producing a repulsive aroma that choked the air.

The faint blare of a car horn caught her attention. She listened carefully, ignoring the soft sighs of Hardcore's intakes. She heard the rumble of traffic and the repetitive barks of a bored dog, the sounds of distant humans, of a distant city.

She searched her surroundings, trying to figure out where they were. Graffiti covered the walls, but she couldn't read it, never could, the antics of bored teenagers had never interested her. Bits of paper decorated the floor, but what hadn't been chewed apart by rats had faded and yellowed into brittle, smudged sheets.

She glanced around, the room only had one massive door and that lead to another room, not the outside. Tipping her head backwards, she noticed that Hardcore leaned against an I-beam that supported part of the roof structure, and above them hung a metal sign, but she couldn't read it, the angle she reclined at obscured her view. She stole a glance at the mech. His optics dark and half stuttered, his frame slightly slumped. He had powered down for the Cybertronian version of a nap.

Slowly, she shifted her legs, moving them so she could find enough traction to push herself to the side. She lifted her hand off of this thigh and paused, reading him for signs of wakefulness. Nothing. She continued to carefully slide from his embrace. She had no intentions of going far, or even standing up, she just wanted to read what the sign above them said. With most of her weight on her hip and one arm, she leaned away from Hardcore, and his electrical field slipped from hers, their contact broken. She turned her torso, and twisted her free arm so she could brace herself with it. She craned her neck, looking upwards, the paint on the front of the sign had faded and flaked, but enough of it remained that the letters remained legible.

Powerful arms snaked out and wrapped themselves around her. She yelped in surprise as he dragged her back, pinning her to his chest. "Where are you going?" he hissed in her audio.

"I just wanted to read the sign," she gasped.

Her back pressed against his chest, her feet scrambling to anchor her as he lifted her aft off the ground. His arms crossed her chest supporting all of her weight, keeping her unbalanced and helpless. He moved an arm so his hand forced her head back and to the side at a precarious angle. She tried to relax her body, but her pump pounded in her chest, confusion and fear contorted her soul. She whimpered piteously.

The mech sucked air through his intakes, and for one long minute they stayed this way. Velocity afraid to move and Hardcore one swift movement away from ripping her head off. Tension and anticipation floated around him and his electrical field zapped greedily against hers.

Velocity shuttered her optics and whispered, "I'm sorry". Something had changed, something had shifted between them and she didn't understand. She wanted to go home and curl up next to Optimus. She felt him along their bond and he clutched at her, pulling her. He wanted her too.

Hardcore loosened his grip, but still kept an arm slung around her. Her aft hit the concrete floor with a heavy thud. His hand found her audio horn and fingers wrapped tightly around the sensitive receiver. He tilted her head back, so she could see his face, his optics burned coldly, a cruel smile turned the corners of his mouth up. He laid a leg over hers, pinning her to the spot. "I will forgive you, but only this once." The smile spread, lighting up his face, and he released her audio horn.

She slowly relaxed, then sagged with relief. Her pump started to slow in her chest and hypercoils loosened. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had taught her about tense mechs, unable to relax and always ready to defend themselves, even Optimus tried to avoid startling the yellow twin. She rationalized that she must have startled Hardcore and he reacted before thinking.

A finger rubbed along her abused audio horn, tickling it, then stroked the seams of her audio base. She purred, and her stressed systems slowing again. She focused on the way that he touched her, the smooth caresses, and the lightness of the pressure. He moved from her audios to her jaw line. She shuttered her optics and tilted her head upward a little, giving him access to the delicate wires in her neck. He grunted softly and trailed his finger tips along the offered spaces.

Velocity opened her shutters and looked at him, his optics shone with cold confidence. She shivered, and not just from his touch, everything about him promised dark desires, carnal longings, and brutal pleasures. Where Optimus offered security and companionship, this mech offered raw, forbidden passion.

His touch found her shoulder anchor, his fingers softly played along it until he came to a seam in her armor. He slowly slid a finger into the tight gap, where he found a pressure node. A whimper escaped her vocals, as the node fired. Pleasure mixed with pain, and raced to her core processor.

"Perhaps, I have figured out how to keep you occupied and out of trouble for a little longer." The suggestiveness that dripped from his voice drove her core temperature upwards.

Before she could object, he shifted her. He scooped her up as easily as a parent would a small child and laid her across his lap, her legs dangling over his. Her head now rested in the crook of his elbow. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shushed her, his gaze roving over her form.

She watched him silently admire her, his field played enticingly along hers. She watched the way that the light danced along his armor, millions of tiny particles in the metallic paint caught the sun's rays and glittered when he shifted. Something changed between them, something that hadn't existed before, but couldn't be denied now. Perhaps it had always been there and she hadn't noticed, but the air around them hummed with it.

She raised her hand and laid it on her chest, the movement drew his attention. His fingers lacing between hers, his thumb brushed her interface port, and she gasped. She tried to move her hand away, but he held tightly to it. He pulled her arm up so they could both see the slender opening. His optics lingered there, the entry to her. He slowly ran his thumb over the port, eliciting a moan from her.

Her pump beat furiously in her chest, threatening to pound its way out. Guilt started to gnaw at her, making her unsure if she wanted this. She belonged to another, but her body betrayed her, and tight anticipation filled her as systems unlocked, and firewalls dropped, readying for the intimacy of interfacing.

Velocity stared at the extraordinarily beautiful mech, his perfection still amazed her, and she felt honored to even be lounging in his lap. She needed to stop this before it went any further, but the words wouldn't come from her vocals. His finger teased the edge of her port, and transformed, becoming longer, more slender. He slipped the modified digit into the gap, probing, exploring, and stimulating the connecters within. He worked the opening, stroking in and out to touch the contacts. She arched her back and moaned, her objections forgotten.

Optimus had never done this to her, and she had never realized how much their size difference limited their love making. She wondered how much longer Hardcore planed to tease and torture her. She wanted to feel him race along her relays and smolder in her sensors. She wanted him to drag out excruciating pleasure until she couldn't tolerate anymore and overloaded from the data buildup. She didn't care, that what she felt was nothing more than lust, she wanted him.

Silently, she nodded, giving her permission for him to have her.

A deep growl answered her. She could hear his intakes hitch and his pump hammer in his chest. "Primus, dolls rev fast." His voice sounded strained, thick. He bent over her, their faces close their chest plates touching. His head snapped up, looking beyond her, his features contorting into fury. "This is none of your concern," he snarled.

A deep chuckle echoed in the room. It tore through the heat of her desire and exposed the frigid chill of nightmares.

"Don't stop on my account, but I must admit that finding you with an Autobot hub is a slight… shock."

She knew that voice, she had learned it that day that she died and would remember it as long as she lived. She didn't want to see the hated face, the red optics, the black and white coloring so much like someone else she knew. She turned her head, the world shrank around her, and her energon froze in her lines, towering over her and Hardcore, stood Barricade, a cruel smile on his facial plates.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N: **I am updating as I can, but RL is eating my lunch right now. I cannot promise when updates will occur, but I promise I won't abandon this... unless I get run over by a train… or my netbook implodes again…or the world stops spinning…

**Lyrics: **Hurts So Good by John Mellencamp, Homeward Bound by Simon and Garfunkle, and Right Here Waiting For You by Richard Marx. I really need to sit down and make a song list for these fics. XD

**More A/N:** **To Ford B:** Thank you. I understand the busy part, RL has made it where writing is an effort. To Intheshadows: You just gave me an almost terminal case of the warm fuzzies, and I thank yo for it. Here is a new chapter for you to enjoy... I hope you enjoy it. **To** **Starfire201.** Yes, yes and no. XD. **To Kiba:** Settle down, you know me. I'm only gonna drag this out and make everybody squirm. XD **To Wolife:** Me? Flub? Never! Bah, it is your eyes that are deceiving you. I am perfect and never do anything wrong. And if anyone believes that load of doo-doo, I have a pyramid scheme you might be interested in. To **Empress Eerian Sadow: **Yeah, I have another Simmons convert. Woot! Once I have assembled my armies, then the world will be mine. Damn, more mistakes. Grrrrr, why did I have to fail grammar and spelling in school?


	34. Tortured

**Rated: **M for adult themes. Language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk**. I will specify torture and mental rape for this chapter.**

**Important Note**: This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

**Beta read** by **Okamichan. **Thank you Wolfie for devoting the time it took to fix this chapter, and thank you for whapping me when I was being a dumb-ass. What would I do without a dear friend like you. Luvs.

**Dedicated** to the amazing **illmatar**. Hang in there lady, it will eventually get better.

_**XxxX**_

_**Tortured**_

_**XxxX**_

A demon from Hell leered down at her. His optics glowed with malevolent joy, highlighting the sharp angles of his facial plates, tinting them the color of dried blood.

Time slowed to a crawl, and an emotion deeper than despair weighed her soul down. Fear paralyzed her; it stole the sound from her vocals and stalled her pump. Death had come for her again.

Gears hummed softly as the demon dropped to all fours. His movement stirred the air; dirt and paper fragments swirled away from him, and dust motes sparkled while they danced with indifference in the air. Barricade cocked his head to the side, a brutal smile played along his features, exposing sharp, jagged dental plates.

She pressed into the mech holding her. His arms tightened around her torso, pinning her to his chest, offering her the illusion of protection. In the back of her mind, she knew that the one cradling her would also kill her, but in her panicked state, Hardcore became the only sanctuary available. The armored plates of her back raked against his legs, scraping, and digging as she pushed against him.

She wanted to awaken from this nightmare, to find herself at home, safely tucked next to Optimus. Mentally, she screamed and clawed to get away, but fear glitched the signals, locking her gears, leaving her helpless and silent. She stared at the black and white mech, afraid to look away, her whole frame rigid.

Barricade shifted his weight, and slowly crawled towards her on hands and feet; his movements alien and mechanical. Blade-tipped fingers curled, scraping and sparking across the hard concrete surface. He slinked ever closer, and the short distance between them vanished; the backwash of his exhaust blew over her when he cycled his vents.

The shock trooper straightened, rearing back so that he squatting in front of she and Hardcore. He rested his hands on his knees; his murderous smile never wavered.

Velocity tried to scream, instead a strangled, hitching sound squeaked from her vocals. Her pump pounded frantically in her chest, its rapid beat loud enough for her to hear. The arms around her tightened, squeezing and denting, holding her in place.

Barricade reached for her, his freakishly long, multi-jointed fingers opened, like asps ready to strike in unison. His arm slipped through a shaft of sunlight, the life-giving radiance bounced along his funeral-black paint, flashing into her optic.

She blinked, turning her head to avoid the blinding glare. A fearful shudder ran along her frame.

Optimus stirred deep in her soul, distant and helpless; his emotions choked and festered within him. Guilt tainted their connection; he blamed himself. She didn't care; she reached for him, desperately seeking his protection. He reached back for her, connecting with her.

A gentle caress ricocheted her back to the physical world; a soft stroke along her ankle sent shivers up her frame. Barricade continued to fondle her, his optics watching her face while he slid his hand over her armor. His electrical field zapped against hers, promising violence and pain. She couldn't move, couldn't breath, and couldn't think, his presence overshadowed everything else.

Suddenly, Optimus raged along their bond, his soul-twisting anguish vanished, evaporated. Raw fury slammed into her, an emotion so cold it burned, and she shivered from the chill of it. The depth and power of his anger startled her; its purity ripped her out of her shocked stupor. Dormant battle programs onlined, clearing her processor and evaporating the haze of fear. Heat and hate flared within her. She understood how Hardcore had fooled her, kept her passive.

She took Optimus's wrath and made it her own.

Velocity snarled at the shock trooper. Her metal lips shifted, exposing her dental plates. No longer a subdued femme, her soul flared with the need for vengeance.

Barricade's optics narrowed and his hand squeezed her ankle until the armor squealed and pain shot up her leg. He tugged, and she started to slip from Hardcore's embrace.

Hardcore tightened his hold around her, keeping Barricade from taking her from him. For a second they both pulled at her, each trying to claim her.

Velocity lashed out with a kick. The curved talons on her foot snapped from their sheaths, slicing towards Barricade's vile face.

He twisted away form her, riasing his arm to block the the blow to his face.

Her claws hooked into him with enough momentum to carve into his tough armor. She ground her denta and ripped her talons free with a squeal of protesting metal. Wires sparked and spat, and parts clattered to the ground, exposing a gash in his forearm.

Barricade leapt well out of her reach, probing the wound. His wretched smile never wavered. He looked away from his injury and stared at her, optics burning with the promise of retribution.

Velocity didn't wait, she struggled against the arms that secured her. Snarling and snapping like a rabid animal, she twisted against Hardcore; scraping off large chunks of paint with the shriek of metal. She glared murderously at him with her one functioning optic, the mech had lied to her, deceived her and tried to seduce her.

Hardcore still held her in a lover's embrace, pinned to his chest, but his gears moaned with the effort it took to keep her in place and controlled. She glowered up at him, memorizing his hated vestige, but his focus wasn't even on her. He only glared at the black mech, optics filled with hate, and beautiful features contorted into an ugly mask. A mask close enough for her to kiss, if she so desired. His mistake.

Velocity tilted her head as far back as she could, then slammed it forward, hard and fast. The top of her helm crashed into Hardcore's perfect features. Her audios rang with feedback, but she could still hear, the glorious sound of metal snapping like brittle twigs. She head-butted the mech again. His delicate facial components splintering under the impact, and his pained squeals filled her soul with delicious delight. Her HUD blinked with minor damage warning, but she ignored it, the dent was inconsequential.

Hardcore twisted, pitching her away from him. A ped contacted her hip as he shoved her farther, but it didn't matter, she was free.

Velocity didn't look back, she didn't think; she only reacted. She rolled onto her stomach and clambered to all fours. Her arms threatened to give under her, and the world spun in dizzying circles. She ignored the warnings on her HUD, and the weakness in her limbs; instead, she started to crawl towards the doorway, her only thoughts on escape.

Laughter echoed in her audios. The cruel sound spurred her forward, and she knew that she didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell, but she had to try. She moved, despite the pain flaring in her side. Something wet oozed along her mechanics and dripped from the crevices in her armor. She ignored it, the implications meant nothing to her; a problem to be sorted out later if there was a later. Instead, she focused on placing one hand in front of the other, willing her legs followed.

She moved her right hand forward and placed it on the unforgiving concrete, then lifted her left hand. A creak was her only warning. Her right arm gave, and she slammed face first into the floor, flooding her HUD with warnings. Feedback flooded her audios, squelching all other noise for a few precious seconds.

The ringing cleared and she heard more laughter, the deep chuckles of someone thoroughly enjoying himself. Velocity clawed and scrambled at the floor, wanting to start moving again. Her arms still shook, but they held her as she struggled to her hands and knees again.

She glanced over her shoulder. Barricade leaned against an I-beam, his arms crossed over his chest, chuckling, but not interfering. Obviously, the shock trooper found her desperation entertaining.

Velocity looked in the other direction, and nearby, Hardcore knelt on all fours, shaking his head like an injured dog. Energon dripped from a severed line, forming a small puddle on the ground. He looked up at her; his optics glowed in vengeful rage. "I. Will. Rip. You. Apart."

The mech's cold words sliced through her hate, and fear blossomed. She had little doubt that he would destroy her. Panic bit at her and she clambered forward.

Her programming demanded that she run. She had been built to run and could outmaneuver almost any mech on two legs. She pulled her legs under her and hooked the talons of her feet into the concrete. Her hypercoils struggled to carry her weight, and her legs shook with the effort. After several attempts, she found enough strength to stand. Gyroscopes and stabilizers glitched at the rapid change. Under fueled and injured, her systems lagged, sending her stumbling towards the doorway.

With each unsure and sluggish step, she moved closer to her goal. She didn't have a plan beyond reaching the next room and hoped that fate intervened. She took another gangling step, her exertion taking its toll. Heat radiated off her as her core temperature rose. She tried to suck air in, cycling it through her intakes and over her internal mechanics, cooling them. Nothing happened. She choked back the panic; organic instincts screamed that she was suffocating, even though she knew that she didn't "breathe" anymore.

She focused on the doorway looming in front of her. Light shone invitingly through the large opening, teasing and taunting her. A goal as distant as the sun, yet close enough she could have cleared it in a dozen, bounding strides, had she been functioning at peak levels. She continued to stumble towards it. Forcing one foot in front of the other, refusing to give up.

Velocity glanced over her shoulder; both Hardcore and Barricade stood ramrod straight, their expressions alert and watchful, staring past her.

Darkness moved into her limited peripheral vision and blotted out the light. She turned her head, and a mass of black filled her vision. A hand slammed into her, knocking her off her feet and sending her siding across the floor. She slammed into a support beam, stopping her.

Her processor glitched and her systems teetered on the edge of shutdown. Disoriented, she could only watch helplessly as an enormous mech walked over to her and raised his ped above her. She shuttered her optics, cringing, and waiting. Hoping death would be swift so she did not have to hear her own frame buckle and mechanics rupture under his foot.

The killing blow never came.

Instead, the mech pinned her to the concrete, pressing his foot against her with enough force to keep her from moving, without crushing her.

She opened her optic and looked up the span of the mech's body to his face far above her. Over a dark battle-mask, his red optics gazed at her, emotionless and empty. His electrical field absorbed hers with a cold indifference.

"Explain?" he ordered, his voice a monotone, metallic rasp.

_**XxxX**_

He suppressed a shudder, his gears whined in protest against the strain of just remaining still. The tips of his fingers dented the metal pads on his palms as he squeezed his fists. He dared not move, uncertain in his ability to contain Velocity's terror and control his own rising anger.

He turned inward, focusing on his bondmate. The room around him and everything in it shrank, disappearing into a solitary point of light, distant and unimportant.

Velocity became his entire attention. Her fear washed over and through him, stirring up protectiveness, rage, vengeance and need, creating a volatile swirl of toxic and dangerous emotions. He wanted his bondmate; wanted her in his arms, safe and close. He knew he could decimate any mech foolish enough to stand in his way, for he was the Prime, the best of his kind.

He sucked air over his intakes in an attempt to cool his systems and temper. His tenuous hold on rational thought slipped and the violent urges he kept buried surged forward. He wanted to rush to her, to eradicate those foolish enough to cross him and challenge his authority. The need to lash out almost overwhelmed him. He responded in the only way he knew how. He embraced an icy calm, wrapping his spark in frozen composure, chilling his wrath and clearing the fire of emotions from his mind.

The world snapped back into focus and the details of the room stood out in harsh clarity. He saw how the air currents lazily rippled the flags that hung throughout the chamber, and the scuff-marks where numerous shoes and peds had worn away the floor's finish. He heard the soft hums and clicks coming from his trusted mechs, and the distant voices of humans echoing down the empty hallways. He smelled oil, energon, metal, dust, mold and human sweat. He felt air waft over and into the seams of his armor and the warm tingle of Prowl's familiar electrical field, but he also felt the cold within his spark and the weight of the Matrix in his chest.

Forced into hyper-awareness by his battle protocols, he processed every tiny detail around him, searching for a threat to obliterate. He found nothing. This heightened state strained his systems, ramping up his fuel consumption and overclocking his processor. In many ways, it weakened him, clouded his judgment and undermined his control.

He could calculate the pattern of thousands of dust particles that floated in the air, but he couldn't comprehend the calm, words coming from his tactician.

He couldn't do it any more.

He couldn't stand and pretend to function as the leader of an entire race when he could only concentrate on a single life.

Optimus turned on his ped and left the conference room, his thoughts centered around his bondmate.

_**XxxX**_

Hardcore knelt before his Lord; his frame heaved, sucking air over his intakes and forcefully expelling the heat. Slowly, he brought a shaking hand to his face and gingerly touched the damaged components. He cycled again, grinding his dental plates together and glaring at the femme pinned under Soundwave's ped. Helpless and vulnerable, he could easily terminate her. The desire to do so almost overwhelmed him, but he dared not launch himself towards the new Decepticon Lord. No matter what his intentions, such actions would not be well received.

Without moving his head, he cut his optics to the side, glancing at Barricade. The shock-trooper remained in a frozen bow, but he didn't completely kneel. A confident grin spread on his face.

Hardcore wanted to pull his weapon and blow a hole through the mech's processor core. He had worked hard to keep the femme passive, compliant, a presentable gift for Soundwave. But thanks to Barricade's interference, the femme had panicked and caused more damage than her worth.

He continued to rub his face, hoping that his self repairs wouldn't mar the finish. He doubted Earth offered the technology to have the delicate components resurfaced, forcing him to bear the ugly scars until he returned to Cybertron. Primus, he would make that femme pay.

"Explain," Soundwave ordered again, his voice still clipped and emotionless. It was rare for the Decepticon to ask twice.

Barricade raised his head, taking the initiative. "It appears that Hardcore has gone against your orders, and instead of bringing back Agent Simmons; he abducted the Autobot femme."

The shock trooper's tone held confident amusement, and it rankled Hardcore. He blurted, "The femme was under control until you showed up! There is a reason why you cannot be trusted around valuable prisoners."

The black and white mech straightened, a smug smile still on his face. He shrugged casually. "At least I can say that I have never been duped into 'facing with an Autobot hub. Are they truly that alluring?"

Hardcore felt his core temperatures rise and he shot a nervous glance at Soundwave. The massive Decepticon didn't move, his face still covered by his battle mask, inscrutable and aloof. He stole a glance at the femme in question; Soundwave's foot hid most of her. Only her head, one arm and lower legs stuck out. She stared up at the Decepticon Lord with wide, fearful optics, her free hand clawing at the concrete. Soundwave could effortlessly crush her, bursting her spark chamber.

Hardcore sighed. _Pity, she could have been…entertaining._

Still kneeling, he looked up at Soundwave, meeting the flat, cold glow of those red optics. "We lack the facilities to securely hold _valuable_ prisoner, therefore, I was keeping her complacent and distracted. I would never tarnish my cables by sticking them into what is probably a well used doll."

Barricade snorted. "You have called the hub 'valuable' twice. What information do you have to support this claim?"

Soundwave turned his head, his attention fully on Hardcore.

The silver mech cycled his intakes and slowly stood. He understood this game and he could play it very well. The Decepticon leader wanted them to verbally spar, to skillfully argue and rebuttal, while silently analyzing: watching for weaknesses, determining who was the better, listening, and gathering data. Always listening and gathering data. This was the dangerous difference between Soundwave and Megatron. The former leader couldn't contain his emotions and every nuance and gesture told of his thoughts, a mech knew when to run, or when to scrape in supplication, but not with Soundwave. The former Councilor and Communications Officer hid behind an emotionless mask, keeping his thoughts closely guarded and a mech had a hard time figuring out where he stood.

Hardcore stood his full height and looked up to meet his leader's stare. Any show of cowardliness now would only get him killed. "The femme is valuable, and if Barricade would pull his helm out of his exhaust port he might understand why?" From the corner of his optic, he could see the shock-trooper stiffen. "We have assumed that the femmes were mostly wiped out during the assault on their compound, but more and more evidence is starting to point to the contrary."

Barricade growled. "They were wiped out. I was there and their numbers were decimated, the only ones that survived have since been hunted down and terminated. The femmes are extinct."

Hardcore turned to the mech. "How do you know this? Did you stop to identify every sparkless frame?"

"No, we didn't have to. We intercepted the Autobots' reports. Their weapons specialist, Ironhide, created almost all of the termination verifications. He is a known femme sympathizer, and if he identified their remains, why should we bother. Since then, their surviving remnants have been scrapped. Destroyed. The femmes are gone."

A small smile tugged at Hardcore's mouth. "If the femmes are gone then how do you explain the existence of that?" He pointed to the doll under Soundwave's ped. "The Autobots have an unknown femme among their number. How do you explain it? How can you justify ignoring that a femme lives while you are saying they are extinct?"

Barricade shrugged. "One femme cannot create other femmes. So one survived. This one might have been newly sparked during the raids and we missed her. The Autobots could have hidden her away. She is not important. She is just one femme. She is irrelevant."

Hardcore shook his head. "Barricade, you are a fool. This femme is not that old. I doubt she has seen her first vorn." His words hung in the air. "Where did she come from?"

The shock-trooper shook with rage, but Hardcore stood his ground. He wanted to discredit the warrior before moving against him and the facts of the situation easily lent themselves to do just that. He didn't even have to lie, the truth worked perfectly well. However, he would have to watch for retaliation.

He glanced at Soundwave and the massive mech remained motionless, his attention far from the femme underneath him. He moved his head, tilting it to the side slightly. "Explain why you did not acquire Agent Simmons."

Hardcore winced, and locked the gears in his legs to keep from taking a fearful step backwards. In his feud with Barricade, he had forgotten that he had yet to report his team's failure. He weighed his options carefully before speaking, making sure that he offered the truth, but placed a positive spin on it. For chances were very good that Soundwave already knew what had occurred.

He crossed his arms over his chest and forced his hypercoils to relax, offering the image of confidence and control. "Agent Simmons was in the company of the femme and we had them both surrounded, ready to move in. Then the human was injured. Being near death, I thought that it would be better to let his own kind repair him, so I ordered Overdrive to observe but not interfere and keep track of the man's whereabouts, keeping the target in sight."

"And you went through all of the trouble to bring the femme here, when you could have neutralized her and be done with it," Barricade interjected.

Hardcore ignored the mech, his attention remaining on Soundwave, a demonstration to everyone how little Barricade meant to him. "I have brought you a gift, my Lord. An Autobot femme to do with as you please, and once the human is repaired I will also bring him to you." He dropped into a deep bow, hoping that his words and actions appeased the Decepticon leader.

He tipped his head to look up and Soundwave still stared at him, red optics burned with frigid indifference. The Decepticon leader blinked once, his gaze didn't waver or alter. Unease unfurled within Hardcore and slowly spread along his wires.

"How was the human injured?" Soundwave rasped, his tone dispassionate.

Hardcore straightened. He tilted his head to the side and looked at the femme under Soundwave's ped; she squirmed and struggled futilely, trying to free herself, wasting the energon he had brought her to keep her online. He flicked his gaze upwards and looked at Soundwave. "The femme tried to kill the human."

Soundwave glanced down to form underneath his ped, a flicker of… curiosity flashed behind his optics as he stared at the femme. Hardcore cycled his vents in a sigh of relief; he no longer held the focus of the Noble Lord's interest.

_**XxxX**_

Velocity's framing creaked from the pressure of the Decepticon's ped. The edges of his plating dug into her armor, and her back scraped and gouged the concrete beneath her. She tried to wiggle, turn or squirm, to move in anyway she could, but he effortlessly kept her pinned. Desperation drove her to near panic. She continued to claw uselessly at the concrete, digging deep groves into the material. The intricate clicks and squeaks of the Cybertronian language became nothing but noise to her audios. She ignored the conversation taking place around her, it didn't matter what they said, and she would still be dead at the end of the day.

The mech above her shifted, and she froze. He tilted his head and looked at her, mild interest shone in his optics.

Velocity didn't want him to notice her; she wanted to dissolve into the concrete. She shuttered her optics against his scrutiny, trying unsuccessfully to curl into a ball, to become something small and unimportant.

He shifted and the weight of his foot disappeared.

For an infinitesimal second she froze, her processor struggled to analyze the change, but her instincts screamed for her to move. She flailed about, scrambling for purchase. With her elbows and feet, she managed to scoot a little ways away, when Soundwave bent forward, his optics focused on her.

The mech's hand shot towards her, fingers splayed wide.

She flipped onto her stomach, struggling to get away. On weak arms she flopped forward.

Velocity let out an undignified squeal as cold fingers hooked into the armor on her back and lifted her off the ground. She thrashed about, but she couldn't reach the mech, so her efforts made little difference, and She could not escape his grasp.

The mech turned her to face him, and he scrutinized her, his optics moving over her frame. His energy field brushed against hers, frozen and apathetic. It matched his flat, black coloring; the shafts of sunlight that touched this mech disappeared, seemingly sucked into his armor. Even Barricade shimmered in the sunlight, but this mech absorbed it. Only his red optics held any evidence that he might be more than a machine.

She growled the high, warbled threat of a panicked animal. Fear gave way to recklessness, and she didn't care. She only wanted to get away from him. Velocity lashed out with her claws, swiping at his face but she only caught empty air.

This mech stood considerably taller than Optimus, and his bulk filled the room. He easily held her at arm's length, safely away from any delicate components.

Velocity struck at him again. Twisting her agile frame, she kicked, hoping to sink her talons into his armor. The dull "tink" of metal meeting metal echoed in the barren room as her talons sunk into the plating on his upper-arm.

If the mech felt it, he didn't show it, his just continued to stare at her.

She tightened her hypercoils, trying to rip through his armor to the mechanics underneath. Her leg wouldn't move; she lacked the strength to cut further into his thick plating. She tried to bend her knee and free herself, straining and pulling, but her foot refused to budge. Her talons were stuck. One leg dangled in the open air while the other one extended its full length and twisted at an awkward angle, embedded in enemy armor.

She reached behind her to grapple with the fingers digging into her armor. She had to get away from him, and didn't care that she would land in the awaiting arms of the other two Decepticons.

The mech continued to stare at her, his face expressionless.

Velocity whimpered, and looked down at the thumb that dug into her side, denting the metal. She wrapped her smaller hands around the digit and pulled at it, trying to loosen his hold on her.

Something small and warm grabbed one of her articulated toes, pulling at it, freeing it from the metal . She looked up to see a very small mech tugging at her foot. The tiny, metallic Cybertronian shimmered against the drab black of the larger mech's arm.

He pulled at another toe. His thin arms wrapped around it and his legs strained to lift its wight and dislodge it. Once that talon came loose, gravity took over and the final two claws slipped out, falling away from the huge mechs arm. Her leg was free, but she barely noticed. Her attention remained focused on the little mech as it scuttled along the larger one and perched on his shoulder.

Sun light reflected and shifted. She shifted her gaze to the large mech's chest. Another small Cybertronian peaked out from between the black chest plates. This one easily slipped free and climbed over the massive mech's body like a crab on a whale's bloated carcass.

It scrambled up to join the other, and they both stared at her with their hostile red optics High pitched voiced chattered incessantly in Cybertronian. One started to crawl along the arm towards her. The small mech clicked and hissed aggressively, but the big mech raised his other arm and with his hand gently shooed the little one back.

Revulsion mingled with her fear, and the femme shuddered. Twitching and jerking like some demented mechanical insects, the small humanoid mechs skittered around like cockroaches in a food pantry. She didn't want the tiny things near her; she didn't want one of them trying to slip between the joins in her armor.

Both of the tiny silver mechs looked at the larger one, their optics intent and focused on him. Without a sound, they hastily scrambled over his shoulder and disappeared between the gaps in the mech's armor.

"The Prime has decreed that Autobots do not harm humans," the mech holding her stated in perfect English.

She jerked at the sound of his voice, monotone and metallic with a commanding tone that couldn't be denied. She glanced at him, and continued to attempt to free herself. Slipping the slender claws of her hand into one of the joints on his finger, she sought out neuro-wires or tactile sensors, anything she could find to rip apart and force him to release her.

He shook her, a rapid back and forth movement that threatened to snap her neck. She abandoned her assault on his hand, and pulled her legs up and her arms in, protecting herself as best she could.

The whiplash motion stopped as quickly, and abruptly, as it started, but her gyroscopes couldn't keep up, they still spun in their housings, sending her false data. Disoriented and dizzy, she went limp, hanging like a rag doll in his hand.

"The Prime has decreed you cannot harm humans, but you harmed Agent Reginald Simmons." A statement, not a question.

Understanding flashed in her mind. She raised her head in silent defiance and looked at the mech with her remaining optic. She tried to speak, but only managed a static laced squeak. She tried again, her voice barely audible from fatigue, she said, "You don't have him, do you?"

The mech's features changed. A subtle frown narrowed his optics; she would have missed it had she not been watching him. He opened the hand that held her, releasing her.

She fell fast, unable to brace for the hard landing. She hit the concrete: legs first, metal groaned, and twisted out of shape. She collapsed into a heap, shaking from shock and pain.

Her motions hesitant and unsure, she rolled onto her back, one leg unresponsive. Even that simple task sapped the last of her strength. Her HUD blinked erratically, fritzing. Velocity didn't want to die, but she didn't have anything left to fight with. She tried to raise an arm, as a feeble defense against a mech three times her size, but the limb lagged:heavy, weak. Exhausted and defeated, her body had sustained too much damage to continue. With a level gaze, she stared into the massive Decepticon's optics, the red glow held nothing. No emotions reflected in his features as he looked back at her. Clarity and understanding came to Velocity, he would kill her and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

She whined, wanting to curl up in Optimus's arms and feel the safety in his strength and power, but that would never happen. She knew that she would never see him again. Fate had given her a second chance at life, a life she had never dreamed of, and that life was about to be taken from her.

The Universe was a cruel, harsh, place and the deities that ran it, sadistic bastards. To offer such joy and then to snatch it away… she hoped the atheists were right and she would just snuff out of existence, she didn't want to meet the gods that created life. She hated them.

It took her complete concentration to close her bond to Optimus. He struggled and fought against her. "I love you," she whispered, even though she knew he couldn't hear her thoughts and pushed him away.

The dark mech shifted, straddling her. In one smooth motion, he dropped to his knees. The concrete on either side of her shattered, the hard surface cracking like ice on the surface of a frozen lake. He became The Shadow. Death in a metal frame.

She looked to the side to see the other two mechs, they stood apart, but both watched the larger mech with intense interest. Fascination and anticipation evident in their bright optics. She turned her attention back to the one kneeling over her, and saw... them. Dozens of tiny, glowing worms wriggled from the seams in his armor.

_**XxxX**_

"Autobot Mirage exited the sensor grid point five cycles ago. His signal was last recorded in quadrant four, section theta, subsection two," the calm voice of Teletraan 1 informed him.

"But there aren't any roads in that area, it is open desert." Smokescreen said, more to himself than the AI.

"Correct." the computer responded in the same pleasant tone.

The mech cycled his vents. He rested his elbows on the console, lacing his hands together and steepling his index fingers. He rested his metal lips against his fingers, weighing the information that the computer had given him, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

His optics flicked to the data pad resting next to one of his elbows. The numbers glowed at him, indifferent in what they showed, unaware of the damage they could cause. He had checked and rechecked; counted and recounted the inventory and every time the discrepancy remained the same. The energon stores didn't match the production and consumption levels. Even figuring in what the twins would swipe to refine into their infamous high grade, the numbers still didn't match up. They were missing a lot of energon. If his numbers were correct, it could be enough to fuel several dozen mechs for a full diun, perhaps longer.

Smokescreen reached out, and picked up the data pad, angling it where he could see the screen. He intended to talk to Mirage first, listen to the mech's version and attempt to figure out the problem together… but Mirage had left the base. Left the base, even though they had been ordered to remain _on _base in case of Decepticon incursion.

Primus, he didn't what to be the one to report this to Prowl. He had always struggled to remain neutral when arguments and infighting erupted in the Autobot ranks. Always strove to be the one to dispense rational advice and defuse the explosive tempers. He had never been the one to report a fellow Autobot… until now.

Smokescreen didn't want to do this. It went against his deepest beliefs, but if what he suspected was true, then they had a traitor among them, and the data pointed towards one mech. A mech that had grown sloppy and didn't bother to cover his trail. A mech he wanted to talk to and give the opportunity to defend himself, but that mech had just left the base.

Pushing his chair back, he braced a hand against the console and slowly stood. That much missing energon couldn't be ignored. He glanced at the data pad and stepped away from Teletraan, his spark heavy, hoping that he wasn't about to make a grievous error. But he had checked and rechecked so many time that there was no mistaking it, Mirage had removed large sums of energon and done only Primus knows what with them.

Moving slower than normal he made his way to Prowl's office, only to find it empty. He turned and started towards the Prime's quarters, wondering if the tactician was there. The Prime had turned his anteroom into an office of sorts where he worked and all Autobots could approach and address him.

If he couldn't locate the SIC there, he would ping him and request a meeting.

_**XxxX**_

Velocity stared in rapt, disgusted amazement while the worms wiggled from the mech, their wickedly pointed heads whipped around, searching. They lengthened and widened, slipped from him, a writhing mass descending from his chest. She vaguely wondered what kind of mech would have worms, when it dawned on her that they weren't worms. Segmented and clear, the worms reminded her of glass tubes filled with pale neon.

The mech bent forward, and his mass filled her entire visual field, blocking her view . The glow from the "worms" lit the space between them, painting their armor with an anemic light. One of the worms dropped from him and touched her, slithering and twisting, its cold energy left ghostly trails on her abdomen. It poked at her armor, sliding around until it found an opening then stuck its pointed head between the seams, exploring.

Repulsed, she yelped and swiped a taloned hand at the "worm" knocking it away, but it didn't go far, its tail still hid within the mech above her. It coiled and twisted around itself while energon oozed from its wound.

The mech cocked his head to the side, and blinked once.

She dug her claws into the concrete, intending to shift out from under him and his "worms", but the idea had come too late. The squiggling mass fell on her, engulfing her. Dozens of tiny heads probed her armor, their cold lengths slipping into her body, creeping between her internal mechanics.

She screamed, one of the worms wriggled into her mouth and her voice stalled, silenced. She wanted to fight, but an alien presence took over her body, locking her into immobility. The "worms" explored and penetrated her, linking up with her systems and overriding them. They tightened around her spark chamber, merging with the electronics and programming that controlled the home for her soul. They slipped up her neck and into her cranial housing, violating her, accessing her mind. They pushed her consciousness away from her own body, but wouldn't allow her to hide in her own mind. They kept her pinned, awake and aware, but trapped.

The worms belonged to the mech towering over her. She felt his cold indifference, as he searched her, becoming acquainted with her programming. She wanted him out of her, but he ignored her silent objections, and just kept probing.

He linked into her memory banks, and his optic shutters briefly closed as he cycled his vents. A shudder ran along his body.

She tried to move, to fight him off. She struggled to erect firewalls between herself and him, relying on brief lessons from Wheeljack and Ratchet, but he effortlessly pushed through her barriers.

Her optic receptor blinked off, and her audios shut down, denying her any senses and caging her in her body.

He moved within her, unimpeded and unhindered. He controlled her, dominating her body, and she couldn't do anything to stop him. The mech penetrated her memories, pulling them and examining them. He moved through her with a greasy efficiency, lapping up the data he stole from her, as he calmly took her mind apart. He burned himself into her, cauterizing and destroying as he went, uncaring and unconcerned.

Velocity didn't want him to know what she had once been. She shoved harmless memories at him, the nonsense that filled her days as an Autobot, while trying to bury anything concerning her past.

The mech seemed to understand her actions and casually continued his assault on her data core. His tentacles tightened around her spark housing, searching for a way in.

She screamed in her mind. Unable to give voice to the pain and terror she felt while he violated her. Reckless desperation dove her, and she attempted to wipe her own memory banks. A maneuver tantamount to mental suicide, but she couldn't barely recall those lessons.

Her attacker overrode her commands, stopping the process before it had started. Bored annoyance filled her mind, an emotion that didn't belong to her.

The mech paused. Curiosity replaced his indifference. He showed her what he had found, a memory she held dear and defined her new life. Something he had no right experiencing. He showed her the memory of her and Optimus engaging in their initial bonding, an unspoken question hung between her and the invading mech.

He flipped through her memories, as one would unimportant mail, discarding what didn't interest him. He found another intimate memory, accessed and displayed it like a soap opera on television.

She wanted to turn off her thoughts, and deny him. He had no right to see her and her mate together, no right to know.

He played the memory for her again, forcing her to acknowledge in her mind that she was the Prime's bondmate.

The mech stayed within her, observing the bonding as a spectator. Watching, seeing the Prime as she saw him, powerful and desired. Perfection. Safety. The invading mech became an unwanted voyeur, peeking into something she considered sacred.

Optimus pushed against the seal she placed on their bond, weakening it. She couldn't struggle with both her mate and the Decepticon. Her bond with Optimus exploded and he filled her mind, slamming into the other mech. Her mind burned and she managed to vocalize a scream.

Her mate tried to place himself between her and… Soundwave, the Decepticon was called Soundwave. The mech responded by rapidly searching her memory banks, pulling data dealing with Alpha Base and its defenses.

Optimus pushed further into her consciousness, trying to drive Soundwave from her. She screamed again: tight, overclocked, and on fire, the pain became unbearable. Her circuits started to overheat; she couldn't handle the strain any longer and prayed for shutdown. If her systems crashed the misery would stop.

Without warning, Soundwave slipped from her body and consciousness. His cold presence slowly receded, but he seared a path into her neuro-mainframe, a permanent access. He knew who and what she was to the Prime, and he would use that to against them. He informed her of that as his tentacles withdrew, their paths forever fused into her circuits and mind.

As soon as he left, her sensors clicked on and her programs became her own again.

Optimus raged. His frustration and wrath choked her, his cold hate lodged in her soul, chilling her. But underneath all of his anger and fury swirled guilt and love. He receded along the bond, but stayed with her, a familiar presence she wanted to wrap herself around.

A hand pressed against her chest. The physical touched distracted her from her bond. She blinked several times, clearing debris from her optic. Soundwave still knelt over her, his hand pinning her in place. He rattled something off in Cybertronian, and then looked down at her. His optics bore into hers and she could read the anticipation in his gaze. "Bind the femme," he ordered in perfect English.

Hands grabbed her arms and dragged her out from under Soundwave. She growled and thrashed, but Hardcore and Barricade quickly flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her arms behind her, restraining her. They spread her legs apart and a weight pinned one of them down.

She growled and cursed. Clawed fingers roughly separated the plates in her armor and something cold and heavy shoved its way into her ankle. Pressure sensors fired and she screamed in agony. She twisted enough to look down her body; Hardcore threaded a chain through her leg. Every link thumped against the sensor node, sending shock waves of torture.

Hardcore pulled the chain taut and wrapped around her leg. Then he crammed it back through her leg, jamming gears and banging against delicate wires. He looked at her, a joyful smile on his face. "I like hearing you scream," he said happily as he shoved the chain back into her leg, weaving agony.

_**XxxX**_

Smokescreen rounded the corner and collided with Prowl's raised hand. The SIC's glare silenced any comment the sniper might make.

"THEY ARE TORTURING HER!" bellowed from down the hallway.

Smokescreen looked past Prowl, his optics opened wide in shock. Further down the corridor, Ironhide stood with his back to Smokescreen, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted wide apart, blocking the path of a raging Prime. Optimus's battle mask covered half of his face and his optics burned with barely contained fury. The Autobot Commander towered over the veteran warrior, his hands balled into fists and unbridled anger rolled off of him in thick palatable waves.

Smokescreen's vents hitched and stalled in mid-cycle, and for the first time fear clouded his image of the Prime. He wanted retreat down the hallway, putting distance between him and the enormous mech.

The Prime stepped closer to Ironhide, their armor almost touching. "I could feel Soundwave in her mind, he will destroy her. She doesn't have the skills to defend herself against him."

Ironhide shifted, cocking his head to side as if he were more bored than anything by the Prime's ranting. "Yeah, and what do you plan to do? We have no idea where the 'Cons are keeping her. Even if you do find them, they will see you coming and neither of you will survive."

The Prime bumped against the Weapon specialist, his engine rumbled a deep threat.

Ironhide just continued to stand his ground, but he shifted his stance, placing one leg behind the other. His hands slowly dropped to his sides, fingers uncurling then tightening into a fist. Prowl also moved, with optics intently watching the drama at the end of the hall, his hand slipping towards his primary weapon.

Smokescreen wanted to say something, he wanted to make sense of what he saw, but he had trouble reconciling the difference between the congenial, approachable Prime and the seething mech before him. This mech radiated a cold, vengeful wrath, and the air crackled with raw power seeping off of his frame

Without warning, Optimus turned and disappeared into his office. Ironhide didn't pause; he followed the Supreme Commander, practically stepping on his heels. The door slid shut behind them and shortly after, a muffled bang reverberated through the walls.

For a fraction of an astrosecond the world paused.

Prowl visibly relaxed and cycled his vents slowly. He turned towards Smokescreen, relief evident on his features.

"What was that?" Smokescreen asked, unsure of anything at the moment.

Prowl scrutinized him closely before responding. "A desk, but Ironhide has reported that it survived being thrown."

The sniper blinked. "That… what, the frag just happened? I have never seen the Prime like this?" He muted his vocals realizing that his calm, relaxed demeanor had evaporated and he wanted to grab the SIC, and shake him, demanding answers.

Prowl leaned close to him, vocals only human inches from his audios. "Never forget, whom the Prime's brother was and that they share programming," the SIC whispered. "I trust that you understand the delicateness of this situation and can be counted on to not share what you have just seen and heard." The higher ranking mech's electrical field snapped and pushed against his.

Smokescreen tilted his chin upward, a small defiance to the strong arm tactics of the tactician. Questions raced through his processor and he needed time to digest what he had witnessed and what exactly the ramifications could be, but he understood the need for discretion. "Yes, sir." he said.

Prowl stared at him for an astrosecond longer before he pulled back and assumed a more normal stance. "You had something you wanted to tell me before we were… interrupted."

Smokescreen weighed his options, compared to the incident with the Prime, his concerns over missing fuel seemed paltry. "No, sir. It is nothing I cannot handle my self."

Prowl continued looking at him. "Are you certain?"

No, he wasn't certain, but everything that he knew about his leader had just come into question and he felt the unfamiliar disquiet of confusion and wanted to mull things over, to realign the universe so that it made sense again. "It is nothing."

Prowl only nodded and turned to walk away, leaving him standing at the precipice of an abyss. A deep gorge of uncertainty had opened before him and he wondered how many other secrets that Autobot High Command kept hidden from the rest of them.

_**XxxX**_

Catherine rubbed her eyes with her finger tips; sleep seemed like a impossible dream, an unobtainable goal. She tried to remember the last time she had slept… in a bed, not in the seat of an Autobot. The answer eluded her.

The man sitting across from her didn't look like he had fared any better.

Michael Rainwater sat in his chair; shoulders and head hunkered down and wide eyes flicking every direction. The long grey hair, narrow, almost skeletal build and handcuffs only accentuated the wacko-loner image.

She lifted the Styrofoam cup and sipped the coffee. Oily and thick, the bitter liquid coated her tongue and tasted like it had been sitting on a burner, kept hot for several days. She took another sip, and grimaced. _Shit that tasted bad, but at least it wa__s caffeine. _

She wasn't sure how to progress. The sheriff watched her with a look of angry suffering, she knew that she had made a less than good impression on the man. Her makeup long gone, her clothes rumpled and her hair pulled up, held by a rubber band she found in the parking lot, she figured she looked more like a bag-lady than a reporter.

Honestly, Hound had been the one to gain access to Rainwater. She doubted that the mech's congenial smile and polite demeanor had a damn thing to do with it, and bet that the rocket launcher mounted on his shoulder played a large role in swaying Sheriff Black.

"Mr. Rainwater, what can you tell us about the events that you witnessed?" The Autobot's disembodied voice floated up from her Blackberry that sat in the middle of the table separated her from the man being questioned.

Rainwater glanced around the windowless room, and sank lower in his chair. "I've already told everyone that that dude was attacked by giant robots, but they didn't believe me."

Hound's chuckle sounded from the smart-phone. "Let's just say I believe you, but I need to know what you saw and in detail." The voice held an exaggerated Southern drawl, dripping with "good-ol'-boy" friendliness.

Catherine tried to hide her smile, Hound did have a way of putting people at ease, even if he remained 'outside and unseen. They all had agreed that it would be better if Mr. Rainwater had no idea he was talking to a giant, alien robot.

Rainwater squirmed in his chair, his arms still secured in front of him and resting in his lap. He looked at the phone as he spoke; "The sheriff thinks I'm lying and that the Cybertronians aren't in this part of the state. He said my chances of ever seeing one is slim to none, and seeing four of them in my backyard is impossible."

"Yeah, they like to stay to themselves a bit, but four? You saw four of the… robots?" Hound paused a fraction of a second before saying "robot", but his voice held all the excitement and awe of someone fascinated by a story.

_Playing the "good c__op,_ Catherine thought to herself

She listened to the Autobot's inflections carefully, amazed that an alien being could understand and use such subtlety; a subtlety that many humans failed to master and they had their whole lives to learn the delicacies of verbal communication.

Sheriff Black crossed his arms and harrumphed, knowing full well that the voice belonged to one of the Cybertronians and refusing to be impressed.

Catherine shot the lawman a glare. She didn't like him at all. The way that he had looked her up and down, and then dismissed her with his eyes. That hadn't changed as he continued to ignore' her as much as he could.

Rainwater leaned forward, and licked his cracked lips. "Can I tell you what happened? I mean really tell you, and you'll believe me?" His eyes flicked to the sheriff, then to Catherine and back to the phone.

"Of course I'll believe you; you have no idea the weird slag I have seen in my… days."

The prisoner lifted his arms and placed them on the table, his handcuffs clanking noisily against the stained Formica top. "Now, I'll admit that I had been a tokin' some when the noise outside started." He shot a nervous look at the sheriff, but continued, "It sounded like a jet had landed. I jumped up and grabbed my rifle, to look through the scope."

Catherine interrupted, "You have a rifle?"

Rainwater looked at her, slightly exasperated. "Yeah, I use it to pop the coyotes that bother my goats."

"A high powered Browning with a night scope." The sheriff's statement held raw accusation.

"Coyotes don't hunt in the day," Rainwater retorted.

"Anyways, what did you see?" Hound interrupted, his voice crackled over the phone.

Rainwater stared at the sheriff a second longer then glanced at the phone. "Don't worry about it man, you ain't gonna' believe me anyways." He leaned back in his chair, the metal of his cuffs dragging along the table before his hands fell off the edge and landed in his lap.

Silence hung in the sparsely furnished room. Catherine looked at Rainwater trying to decide what she could say to get him talking again, but it was Hound that broke the silence first.

"Mr. Rainwater, I desperately need to know what you saw last night. Someone I know was involved and is possibly hurt and we need to find her…"

"The little, girly looking one?" Rainwater asked, his eyes alight with interest. "That little girl robot, the one the g-man stuck to like she was his lifeline?"

"What color was she?" Catherine blurted out.

Rainwater frowned at her then shrugged his shoulders. "Lady, I was looking through a night-scope. The only color is green."

"It's ok, Miss Cutter." Hound cajoled, and she felt her cheeks heat up. "Is this what she looked like?" The screen on the Blackberry blinked and the image flicked, drawing everyone's attention.

Rainwater leaned forward again, and reached with both hands towards the phone. He paused and looked questioningly towards the sheriff, the sheriff just nodded. He picked up the phone and studied the image on the screen. "Yup, that's her; I remember the peculiar little horns." He sat the phone back onto the table.

Catherine stole a quick look at the picture on the screen. A still image of the red femme looked back at her, her features shifted into a sly smile. Everything became real. These… people were fighting to survive. She had thought their primary concern was in finding out what happened to agent Simmons, but the Autobots wanted to know what had happened to one of their own. Trying to find her. She wanted to smack her forehead, of course they weren't immediately concerned about Simmons, he lay in a military hospital, moved there just before she, Hound and Cliffjumper made it to the Sheriff's office. When she stopped thinking like a human and started trying to see things from their perspective, she understood. Simmons was safe for the moment, so the focus would be on locating the missing.

"Her name is Velocity," Catherine said. "She is bit of a bitch, but the others seem to like her."

Rainwater and the sheriff stared at her with matching expressions.

"You know them?" The prisoner asked, his voice held equal amounts fear and awe.

Catherine, simply nodded. "You have been talking to one of them for a while. Mr. James Hound is just simply Hound. He is big, green and disguises himself as a Jeep. He needs to know what you saw, so we can try and find the femme… Velocity."

Michael Rainwater sat in silence for a few minutes, his brows furrowed together. "Hound?"

"Yes?"

"You really a big robot?"

"Yes. We… I thought that deception was the best route considering that so few humans have seen us, or tolerate our presence. All things being equal, I would have liked to meet you face to face, but…"

The man looked down at his wrists and the metal restraints on them. "I can see how that would be a problem. This girly robot your sweetie?"

Hound chuckled softly. "No, but I think that she is someone's sweetie. Even if I am wrong in that assumption, we need to find her, she is young and…"

Rainwater nodded sagely, his wrinkled face held wisdom that only age and experience brought, but it also held sadness. "I don't think that you will find her. They took her."

Hound sighed audibly. "I figured as much, but what happened before they took her?"

"They all stood around and talked for a while. The g-man stayed pressed against her leg, like he were hiding or using her as cover. Without any warning she scooped him up and threw him towards my place. Then the biggest one shot her. I couldn't see much after that, the flash blinded me for a few minutes, but I could hear them talking and walking around. They killed all my goats and left the fed to die." He turned towards Catherine, holding his arms up to show her his cuffs. "See what happens when someone does the 'right thing'".

The sheriff growled at Rainwater. "You have an NCIC hit. Someone wants to talk to you about absconding on a drug charge in 1968."

"She threw him?" shock and surprise filled Hounds voice. "She threw Simmons? They were friends."

"Apparently, they ain't friends, she picked him up and flung him like a meat Frisbee."

"Primus. I figured out the rest, but she tried to kill Simmons…Catherine, we need to get back to base. Sheriff Black, Mr. Rainwater, thank you for your time." The phone chimed as he cut the connection.

Catherine sat is stunned silence. She didn't like the femme and thought that Velocity acted in recklessly and had a hostile streak a mile wide, but she had tried to shelter the viewers during the spaceship's crash, using her own body to protect them from the falling rubble. Catherine had always felt safe around the femme, Hell, around all the Cybertronians. She had trouble understanding what… why the femme would try and hurt someone; especially someone they all thought was her friend.

She looked at Rainwater. "Something happened, something went wrong. Velocity isn't like that." She didn't know why she felt the need to defend the femme's actions when she didn't fully understand them herself.

Rainwater shrugged. "Shit happens. Is there anyway your robot friends could help me with this?" He held up his hands and jangled his cuffs.

Catherine blinked. "I'll see what Optimus can do, but the Autobots have a 'hands-off' policy with human laws and government." She stood and held her hand out to the Sheriff. He just looked at it with pale eyes.

Without thinking, she reached out to the prisoner and he grabbed her hand with both of his, he pulled her close. "You seem like a nice lady. Make sure that you don't get too deep with these guys. I have seen what they can do, and they aren't concerned about us." He let her go and leaned back in his chair. "Don't worry about me, I'll get through things, I always do."

She stood stunned, lost in his words until a hand touched her shoulder. The Sheriff directed her out of the room. He steered her towards the spartan lobby and leaned close to her. "I hate to say it, but I agree with the old tweeker, be careful."

Catherine couldn't step into the evening gloom and out of the incandescent light fast enough. Her heels clacked on the concrete as she hurried towards the waiting Jeep. Hound opened his door for her, and she curled into the comfort of his interior.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N**: I apologize for the unplanned hiatus. Work, family, bills and life in general coalesced to the point that something had to give. Primus I hope this chapter is decent, I have been poking it for so long, I can't tell.

Thank you to everyone who comments or places this and my other fics on watch or fav lists

Just to clarify, in this AU verse, when a mech/femme/seeker/minicon/onmicon/whatever is sparked, the new spark is housed in a fully "adult" frame. They don't go through physical growing, but they do mature. Sorry, no cuddly, widdle baby mechs here. Sparklings are young, but fully grown mechs that lack the experience of older ones. By Cybertronian terms Velocity is a sparkling, but she is also a mature femme due to her organic age, and life cycle. Had she been sparked on Cybertron, she would have stayed with her creators for several of vorn until she was knowledgeable enough to function within their society and make her own way, but she would **never **have had a childhood or "grown up".

Diun = Cybertronian month.

NCIC = National Crime Information Center. A factual database where law enforcement can check to see if someone if wanted in another city or state... among other things.

OK. I said that these fics weren't ROTF inspired, and that I was ignoring that movie, but the glowy tentacles were awesome, Soundwave had to keep them. XD


	35. Maimed

**Rating: **M Language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**XxxX**_

_**Maimed**_

_**XxxX**_

A cool breeze caressed her. Soft wisps brushed along her searing frame, offering minute relief from the oppressive heat that boiled within her chassis. The air pulsed again. It danced soothingly over her frame, until it touched raw, exposed wires and tactile sensors. She whined. The high pitched, pitiful sound barely expressed the torment she suffered.

The air flowed over Velocity again, and pain exploded along conduits and relays, but it helped cool her. Straining against her captors, she had overheated. Attempts to move and fight had raised her temperature, and her damaged intakes had been unable to circulate and vent the heat away from delicate components. Teetering on the verge of a meltdown, she had collapsed, her systems shutting down to protect her processor. With her metal body unresponsive, she laid defenseless among a pack of Decepticons.

The soft breeze continued to waft over her. To-and fro, it rustled the debris around her continuing to slowly drop her core temp and tease her away from a system failure. As the heat abated, Subroutines prioritized system functions to maximize her chance for survival. Her processor sluggishly tried to move her towards consciousness, spur her into action.

She anguished just under the surface of awareness, hiding from the heat and pain. She sought to escape, to disconnect from the physical world. She twisted inward, seeking solace from the misery. She turned towards Optimus, searching their bond for his stalwart presence. She needed his strength, for him to comfort her; instead, his rage tainted their connection. Seething anger reached out for her, his fury a simmering arctic hate more deadly than the enemy that had tortured her frame. She scuttled away from him, weak and fearful of the awful power that radiated from him.

Puffs of air continued to stream over Velocity, and her stressed frame responded. Lubricants thickened and stopped seeping from gears. Metals cooled, reducing the threat of warping or buckling. Expanded joints contracted becoming more flexible. Her body pinged and creaked. With every lowered degree, her systems tried to stabilize and puller her closer to on lining.

Another pathetic whimper warbled from her vocals and she hitched her useless vents, a mechanical sob.

Time slipped by as she floundered in a feverish haze. Her few thoughts faded between hallucinations and dreams. Ghostly images moved across her visual plain, blurry phantoms from her nightmares. They spoke in hideous, garbled noises that hurt her audios. Red optics scrutinized her, only a few feet from her, the hellish, red glow blotting out everything else.

She closed the shutter over her optics, blocking the cold, crimson stare, hiding from the monsters. The darkness welcomed her, and she accepted it. The darkness dulled the pain and cooled the heat. She could almost rest, and the monsters could not find her.

_**XxxX**_

Apparently, humans came in two styles: male and female, and only for reproduction purposes. They ranged between a color so light it looked almost white to a shade so dark it resembled black, but all the variations stayed within the brown tones_. _

_Unremarkable and drab. They looked like the dirt their planet is named after._

Their scalps contained follicles that extruded a fibrous protein producing a filament, which could grow to impressive lengths. This "hair", they cut, chemically altered the structure and changed the color, producing almost endless variations of decorative displays.

_That will help some, _she thought to herself.

While not as homogenous as some biological species she had encountered, she feared that she might mistake one individual for another, and inadvertently offend them or their faction… family… pack… whatever the frag they called their groups.

Paying close attention to organics had never been one of her strengths. For the most part, she preferred to leave them alone. It wasn't that she despised them; she just didn't understand them. The way that they consumed other organisms revolted her. Their weird and messy reproduction disturbed her. How much they could physically change from one deca-cycle to the next startled her. Their bizarre life cycles made her uncomfortable. They were so... Different.

Primus, she needed to get over being squeamish about some soft bodied, little beings, and act like a femme-warrior. They had to have some amazing qualities to offset the negative. Why else would Prime ally himself with them?

She continued to gather as much intelligence as she about the native inhabitants of this world. She sorted through several terabytes of data looking up random subjects, hoping to understand. History offered glimpses into the brutality of the humans' past and present. The variety, viciousness and arrogance of their religions confused her. The way that they raped and wasted their resources angered her. Their science seemed sub-par; their knowledge, primitive; and their actions, selfish and greedy. Snipping 'Cons without a scope sounded loads better than dealing with such a volatile, little race.

_Dear Primus, what has Orion gotten us into now?_

Her proximity warnings sounded, distracting her from her research.

She severed her uplink to the World Wide Web. More annoyed than worried, she ran a low frequency sensor sweep, double-checking the identity of the intruders: humans, five of them. She sighed; this was the third time in two cycles that the humans had come poking around.

Rerouting power, she paused. Her systems balanced just on the edge of a full activation, ready to bolt if the humans found her hiding place. Voices called from the other side of the thin sheet of metal that separated them from her. A beam of light swept along the concrete, illuminating a thin gap where the seal on the door had eroded.

A tremor ran along her frame as anticipation revved her systems. She did not intend to engage the humans, but she didn't know how they would respond to her presence. She had intercepted both Autobot and Decepticon reports about the damage that human weapons could inflict upon a Cybertronian. While it might take more than a couple of rounds to take her down, she didn't want to risk the damage. If they discovered her, retreating would be the best option for everyone.

More of the voices called, and a conversation occurred. A moment or two later, the light faded away, leaving her in the dark again.

Several astroseconds passed and the rumble of a primitive engine filtered to her audios, its harsh noise diminishing as it moved away from her. Her sensors told her that the humans had moved out of range, and she debated the need to relocate to a new location.

She cycled her vents and relaxed, deciding against it. Though, if need be, this desolate, war-ravaged settlement offered plenty of places for her to hide if she needed to move. Concealed deep within the Autobots' new territory, she felt secure enough to take time and rest, letting tired systems recharge and repair, but she still wanted to remain hidden for now.

She chuckled to herself, sneaking past the Autobots perimeter sensors had been a piece of oil cake. Familiar signals, ingrained over eons offered little challenge. She bypassed and overrode them with ease. The only moment of pump-pounding uncertainty came when she realized that the internal grid had Wheeljack's distinct styling. She slowed down and paid very close attention to the location and coding of each relay. She wouldn't put it past 'Jack to have laced the benign signals with something malicious to prevent tampering or randomly decorated the area with automated weaponry. When dealing with his creations, sever caution always proved the safest method. However, she didn't want to press her luck, and sought out the first building large enough to comfortably conceal her.

Common sense said that she could just announce herself and ask for admittance to the Prime's base, but an unseen hand held her back. Anxiety twisted her spark when she thought about it. Coming forward sounded logical, practical, simple. The Autobots wouldn't deny her; they would even welcome her. But she couldn't do it, not yet. Coming forward held a price and she wasn't sure if the femmes could afford to pay it.

The long, brutal Cybertronian war had dealt her kind the cruelest of blows. They had lost everything, and been driven to the brink of extinction. To survive she and her fighters had to resort to trickery and secrecy, Decepticon tactics. Sneaking and stealing had become their life, hiding like vermin in the refuse. The war had taught her and her femmes how to move about unseen and unheard, avoiding friend and foe alike.

Exposed meant death, guaranteeing crosshairs over her spark chamber. Well, not her perhaps, but the enemy would start hunting the ones she had protected all these vorns. To survive the war, they had to convince an entire planet that they were dead, for no one hunted the dead.

She smiled wryly. The humans had a word that fit all to well, "ghost". The femmes had become ghosts, restless spirits that walked the planet, their presence felt, but rarely seen. .

In addition, what of her sisters-at-arms, her fellow ghost-warriors? They had placed their lives in her hands and had absolute trust in her. So far, she had managed to keep them fueled and functioning on a dieing planet and surrounded by the enemy, death and destruction. The fate of the femmes rested squarely on her shoulders and it was this reason that she hesitated taking the final step to announce her presence.

She knew that the Prime would offer Autobot protection and anything she needed. She knew that he would give them his complete support, as he had done once before, so long ago. But doubts continued to whisper in her processor, accentuated by the echoes of her sisters' screams and the tat-tat-tat of gunfire. Grisly sounds from ages ago that still haunted her, and chilled the energon in her frame. In her memory, she walked along walls washed in split fluids, stepping over the crumbled, sparkless bodies littering the floors, arriving too late. Sacrifices made so that her ghost-warriors could live.

The protection of the great Prime had meant nothing when the Decepticons stormed the femme bailiwick.

This was the reason she waited; she had lost faith in everything but herself.

_**XxxX**_

The mech stood alone on the barren hill. He tilted his head upward, luminescent optics fixed on a place far beyond the radiant sky above him.

The star that warmed this little world sank below the horizon line, painting the desert in shades of orange, magenta, and gold. The mech's black and white armor caught the light, washing him in a warn glow. He shone brilliantly, a robotic Colossus straddling dry rock instead of the salty sea in the Port of Rhodes.

He ignored the breathtaking views around him. The splendor of this organic world did not inspire him; it was just another small planet in a galaxy littered with them. The humans wanted to think that their "Earth" was special. It wasn't. This small planet did hold a variety of life, but he could name several other worlds that supported more radical and wildly diverse ecosystems. No, Earth did not hold any special meaning for him, but their future hinged on their alliance with the humans, and that he could not ignore.

Prowl finished encoding the last of his message. Craftfully, he hid the important transcription within an avalanche of useless, mundane data. Autobot Command needed to know of the dire situation on Earth, and that their precarious arrangement had started to degrade.

Inflammatory commentary filled the news outlets, but no one understood the seriousness of the situation. Publicly, several members of Congress had denounced the Prime's actions as proof that "the Transformers" held little respect for American laws or Earth's sovereignty. He didn't feel the need to explain that according to the Galactic Charter a planet needed a single, unified government to claim sovereignty. He also doubted that explaining the facts would stop the detractors and protesters He had a feeling that the truth didn't really matter, and that fear and paranoia ruled over facts and common sense.

The rantings of the iterate natives concerned him, but his worry centered on the Prime. If Optimus fell, he doubted that their small force could withstand a Decepticon onslaught. Without their Prime, their leader, their ideal, the Autobots would lose faith and crumble under a relentless enemy. The war would be lost and the Earth would fall under Decepticon control. He had to keep that from happening, and he couldn't secure Earth with fifteen mechs. They needed reinforcements, extra guns and a show of numbers to dissuade the Decepticons from attacking.

So far, Optimus had resisted the urge to allow more Autobots to come to Earth, deciding to err on the side of caution, and send them back to Cybertron. He repeatedly stressed concern that the humans might view an increase in their numbers as an invasion force, fracturing already strained relations.

Prowl had half a thought to tell the humans to shove their selfish, infantile concerns up their exhaust pipes and accept the reality of their existence: they lacked the technology to defend themselves against a greater enemy, and that the universe wouldn't notice their extinction. Perhaps, the Decepticons could do everyone a favor and lay siege to a city, obliterating it and driving human sentiment towards favoring the Autobots… And Megatron would rise from his watery grave to call a truce.

He cycled his vents and forwarded the message to Teletraan, knowing that the computer would give it priority status. The AI possessed a deep space communications array that most mechs lacked, and could be trusted to not gossip, also a trait rarely found in most mechs. He wondered how long it Ultra Magnus to intercept it, decode everything. But his missive had an ulterior motive. If Optimus did not survive, they couldn't waste time or falter; the reigns of leadership had to pass and quickly. He hoped that they could holdout long enough.

Guilt slowly sank into his spark. _Was he betraying a friend? _ He had run calculation after calculation and the results always came out the same: Velocity would die and the Prime would be compromised... severely compromised. _Primus, he was creating contingency plans while Optimus still functioned. _ Prowl hated employing such dishonesty, but he knew that his tactics might make the difference, not only for the Autobots, but also for the humans.

The Decepticons had them dangling over a smelting pot and did not even realize it - yet.

He turned to glance at the green mech slowly approaching him. Ratchet's optics burned brightly from underneath narrowed shutters.

"Is it necessary to drag me all the way out here?"

Prowl ignored the medic's snide tone. All of them suffered from short fuses and itchy trigger-fingers. He turned back to scan the valley below him. "It is easier to hide our conversations from our enemies that our friends."

"Harrumph," Ratchet grunted.

"How is Optimus?" he asked, without looking back.

The CMO walked around to stand at his left side. Their electrical fields brushed together, a welcome familiarity to ease tensions. "He seems calmer. Ironhide refuses to leave his side."

Prowl nodded, and crossed his arms over his chest. "That is good. Few understand the Prime like Ironhide."

"He worries about Optimus." The statement hung heavily in the air; it held all of their under-spoken fears.

The tactician looked at his companion, and blue optics glared at him in return; their light held silent frustration and accusations. Prowl ground his dental plates together, unable to find a delicate way to broach a delicate subject without sounding calloused and unfeeling. Calloused and unfeeling, words used to describe him when others thought that he couldn't hear them, because he refused to waste time dancing around touchy subjects, egos or emotions. "Could the Prime survive a spark separation?"

CMO sagged, shoulders slumping downward, the weight of the ages hanging off him. Sadness dimmed the glow of his optics. Half a breem passed and Prowl waited for the other mech to speak. Finally, Ratchet cycled his vents, and glanced away. "Why would you want Optimus to survive?"

Prowl's optic shutters snapped wide at the question, and he jerked as if slapped. Astroseconds passed before he could speak. "You would allow the Prime to parish?"

The medic took a few steps past Prowl and slowly lowered himself to the ground. He glanced over his shoulder and patted the hillside next to him; dust clouds puffed up and swirled with each movement of his hand.

Prowl stalled. The medic's tired words echoed in his processor, an unfathomable response. He struggled to cover his shock and with still movements, stood beside Ratchet.

"You will strain the oscillating joints in my neck forcing me to stare up at you like that. Sit."

Prowl squatted next to the older mech, one hand one the ground, helping him keep his balance. He followed the medic's gaze to their base in the distance. The lights glowed steadily in the fading day. A strained silence pressed against Prowl, the implications of the medic's comment were too serious to ignore. "You realize that allowing the Prime to terminate is tantamount to treason? You swore an oath to use all of your skills to protect his spark." He couldn't stop the coldness from creeping into his words.

Ratchet continued to stare off into the distance. Only the slow blink of his optic shutters gave any hint of life. His words came slowly, heavily. "My concern is how much of Optimus will be left when Velocity dies. You weren't there when he lost Elita. Few know this, but he had to be restrained and forced into stasis lock for a full diun. Every time we onlined him, he would try to join his mate in the Matrix. Even after he accepted the loss, it took its toll on him. Part of him died with her, he has never fully recovered. He just functions around it.

"I doubt he could go through that again, and it would be cruel to force him to do so. So few of our kind survive a spark separation and he is the only one I know of that has chosen a second mate. We have no way of knowing how her death will affect him in here." The medic tapped his cranial housing with his finger.

Prowl analyzed the CMO's words, his processor spinning in circles as it tried to recalculate. He dealt in statistical variables, contingency plans and tactical strategies, not in matters of the spark. He had failed to figure in the Prime's prior loss and its effect on… everything.

The tactician directed an epitaph at himself.

Ratchet reached put and grabbed him by the arm, startling him out of his thoughts. "We cannot afford to lose the Prime." The medic looked at him, optics narrowed to mere slits. His words, though spoken softly, held an unmistakable challenge. "We need to be doing more the prevent this."

Prowl resisted the urge to glance away. "Lennox and his men have offered to help in anyway possible, but I am hesitant to use them. I feel that we have hampered ourselves by not arriving at their Congressional hearing." He sighed and shook his head. "Our situation with the humans is tenuous, but at the same time, we need their assistance to search large areas.

Ratchet's hand tightened around his arm. "But what are _you_ doing? You never sit idle."

The tactician looked away, his facial plates shifted downward into a deep frown. "I am taking massive gamble."

_**XxxX**_

A new sensation rippled through the darkness. A soft pressure on her cheek roused her, teasing her towards wakefulness. She whimpered. She didn't want to leave the deep shadows, out there lurked brutal pain and blinding light.

A touch to her helm. A pressure rested on her head, cradling her. Noises disturbed the silence of her mind, the whine and purr of gears, blended with a smooth, softly spoken voice. She knew that voice, the familiar tone and sultry cadence. She feared it... hated it.

Her soul squirmed, wanting to move away from that soft, velvet coo, but her body didn't respond.

The caresses moved to her chest. A hand pressed against her breastplate, then slipped to her side. The murmur of the voice warped into words. "Her core temperature has dropped significantly, but she is still running hot." Something taped against her helm; the sound of metal dinging against metal reverberated in her audios. "I know you can hear me."

With monumental effort, Velocity creaked open an optic shutter, forcing the lenses to focus. At first, only darkness filled her visual field, but the shadows coalesced into dim shapes. Weak light reflected off polished armor, while the glow of pale blue optics stared down at her. The liquid silver sheen of Hardcore knelt over her and in one of his hands, he held a wedge shaped piece of sheet metal. The mech waved the thin steel over her, stirring the air into a breeze. He moved closer to her, brow arches pressed into a frown, his optics focused on her remaining one, searching, analyzing. He tossed the fan aside, and reached for her. His hand carefully cupped her head, his thumb softly pressing against her cheek. His frown deepened before his brow arches relaxed. A languid smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The static charge of his energy field faded, replaced by a warm, inviting tingle.

She didn't want him near her, touching her. Fear shivered down her frame, and she tried to lift an arm to shove him away, but she couldn't. Beaten and damaged, she lacked the strength to move, and her arm remained pinned underneath her back.

Velocity looked away. She blinked, struggling to keep her expression neutral, not wanting him to see the despair that had wrapped around her soul.

The Decepticon chuckled. "You will look at me." His fingers tightened, biting painfully into her face. He turned her head, forcing her to look at him and only him. Their chest plates rubbed together with a grinding squeal. His energy field enveloped her weaker one, dominating and conquering it.

Her pump pounded in her chest, fueled by fear and uncertainty. She couldn't defend herself against him. She couldn't even curl into a protective ball. They had defeated her, reduced her, and broken her. She was at their mercy.

A simpering whimper slipped from her vocals.

His electrical field rolled and pushed along hers greedily. He whispered into her audio, "I have never known of Lord Soundwave to end an interrogation so suddenly, _and_ leave the 'Bot's processor intact. He must have discovered some fascinating secrets within your little processor. Later, you will share them with me."

She winced. She had not intended to share anything with Soundwave, and the secrets he had pulled from her mind had been accidental. The Decepticon had been ripping her mind apart, snapping up bits of data and searching for more. She had been terrified and confused, afraid he would learn the truth about her origins. Desperate to save herself, she had made a mistake and let him learn about Optimus. Now, her mistake could be used against the Autobots. She'd rather die than tell the Decepticons anything else.

Mustering all of her strength, she raised her head enough to press her cheek against his. "Fuck you," she whispered, but her words lacked conviction or threat, barely more than a sigh.

The mech froze for a second, his stare boring into her. Then, he carefully guided her head to the ground before releasing it, his smile slowly faded. Hardcore leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "You need to remember that we will be spending a considerable amount of time together as I have been assigned to watch over you; making sure that you remain… semi-functioning." He looked around, as if searching. "Unfortunately, I need to meet with an old friend, and must be gone for a while. Overdrive has agreed to keep his optics on you in my absence. Be a good femme and do not misbehave. Unlike me, he has little patience."

She said nothing to him, and looked away. His threat was clear, and she just didn't have any real fight left in her.

His hand patted her on the side of her face, and she shuttered her optics. The hum of moving gears and the retreating tread of Hardcore's footfalls announced his departure. Lying in the heavy, still darkness, she wallowed in her guilt and misery. She hated herself. Unable to stand against him, she had simply given in. Her soul sank, disgusted at her own actions. She had willingly surrendered to the enemy.

Darkness closed around her, it no longer offered protection or soothing comfort. She hitched her useless vents. The rats around her went silent, but only for a moment. Alone, helpless and suffering she prayed for salvation. She asked any deity, Dark or Light to help her.

Only the rats answered, their scratches and squeaks filled the night.

She wallowed in self-pity. The thick, miry mud of hopelessness pulled her downward into the void of despair. She grieved for herself and the misery she would suffer before her death. She mourned for the ones she would never see again. The darkness closed in around her, pressing against her. Hundreds of little, red, rat eyes stared at her. She felt herself slipping. The constant throb of pain and the near-paralyzing fear wore on her. She could not stand anymore. A frustrated scream rattled from her vocals, and the rats scattered for cover.

The ground shook, announcing the arrival of a massive mech. She barely managed to register his presence before he fell upon her. A hand ground her torso the concrete, while the other one reached for her legs. He glared at her, his optics brimming with malice and hate. "You don't bother me…" He grabbed her leg, pulling at it.

White-hot agony burned from her leg into her mind. She screamed. Static laced her vision, as she writhed in his grasp, unable to escape.

He let go of her leg and immediately, the pain subsided to a dull throb. She lay in shock. Her optic shuttered opened wide and her mouth agape. Tremors shook along her body, and her core temperature inched but a few degrees.

"… and I don't bother you," the mech said as he stood and walked away.

_**XxxX**_

The location ping echoed through his processor, rousing Smokescreen from recharge.

He quickly onlined his systems and responded, telling the sender that he was unoccupied, and willing to meet. The sharpshooter propped himself up on his elbows, blinking his optic shutters to remove any dust particles from his optical lenses. With a series of simple signals, he activated the television and turned it to a news channel, but kept the volume low. Then, he turned the lighting up, enough for comfortable sight, but not glaringly bright.

With sluggish movements, he sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He blinked some more and rotated his shoulder a few times. The joint still stung from the abuse it took on the firing range. It had been a long time since he had fired off that many rounds with his sniping rifle.

After a couple of astroseconds, he reached to the shelf above his bunk and retrieved his data pad. Smokescreen turned it on, and randomly opened a program, carefully sitting it on his bunk next to him. He did not want his guest to think that his recharge had been disturbed.

_What was it that human expression? He could sleep when he terminated._

He spent the next breem running a fast diagnostic, more to keep from slipping back into recharge, than anything.

A second ping announced the arrival of his visitor. Smokescreen paused, shifting his facial plates so they reflected a warm smile.

He stood and walked the short distance to the door, then tapped the code to unlock it. A final touch on the keypad and the door slid open. Hound stood on the other side, one arm braced against the door jam, fingers rapping impatiently. His brow arches pressed tightly together and his facial plates turned downward in a frown, not the mech's typical expression. Road dirt and insect carapaces clung to Hound's armor, speckling him with organic debris.

Smokescreen stepped back, and bowed slightly ushering the other mech to into his quarters. The sniper appreciated Hound's quiet, gentle presence, sharp processor and lack of arrogance. Even with his head tipped in respect, he took in the numerous repair scars and battle wounds that crisscrossed Hound's armor, each a testament to honor and duty. He admired the tracker's lack of vanity. It wasn't that the mech didn't care about his physical appearance. There were simply more important issues to him.

Hound quickly glanced both ways down the corridor, and the telltale tingle of powerful sensors radiated from the tracker.

_A scan, Smokescreen thought to himself, and he wondered why the other mech felt the need for such precautions. A cautious, tense Hound did not bode well._

The sniper continued to smile softly, wanting to put his fellow at ease. "You are lacking your human, or did she run off with Cliffjumper?"

Hound looked at him, his optics full of confusion. A tight, forced smile graced the green mech's features, but unease still radiated from him. The tickle from the energy sweep subsided, and the mech stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him. "When I left Miss. Cutter, she had collapsed on a human bunk, offlined and started producing a horrific noise with each breath. I think it damaged my audios." He tapped the side of his head, the strained smile never relaxed.

Smokescreen cocked his head to the side, wondering why Hound continued with the bantering charade, but decided to indulge his friend. "So your new _friend _snores. Nice to know that before you two bond."

"Ya know Smokes; I expect comments like that from Warpath, the crude glitch, but for you to stoop to such low humor…" Hound's smile widened, relaxing, easing the tension in the air around him.

Smokescreen turned and made his way back to his bunk. With graceful movements, he lowered himself onto it. He scooted back until he reclined against the wall. Then, he pulled up one leg and wrapped his arms around it, while the other one dangled casually off the side of his berth. "You need to be careful around Miss. Cutter." He watched the other mech, doubting that the human woman caused the source of the tracker's apprehension.

Hound crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged his shoulders. "From what I have seen, she is more interested in the males of her species. Everywhere we go, she behaves like a desperate seeker on the prowl for a quick 'facing. Honestly, do you think I would give my spark to a fleshy femme? Not this mech. I want to remain unattached and independent, with the freedom to roam where I want and not have to worry about anyone else." Hound sat on the edge of Smokescreen's bunk, the only place to rest in the tiny room.

"I am only pointing out that the woman seems to have developed an interest in you, and humans have a strange habit of forming emotional attachments to the members of other species and inanimate object."

"Primus, Smokes. I'm not an inanimate object, but 'forming emotional attachments to members of other species.'... Now you even quote Velocity's lessons." His shoulders sagged, and his smile melted into a sad frown. The jovial mood vanished. Hound sighed, and bent over. Resting his arms on his knees, and stared at the floor between his feet.

The silence between them stretched on for several minutes. Smokescreen watched the other mech, waiting patiently for Hound.

The tracker turned his head, looking at Smokescreen. His expression serious, his optics dim and grief filled. "She didn't have a chance. She had three Cons on her, and one of them was a seeker. They cornered her and took her down," Hound's vocals warbled, ripe with anger and disgust. Frustration crackled along his armor.

Smokescreen glanced away, his smooth neutrality fractured, allowing weariness to seep to the surface. He didn't want to talk about Velocity. Talking about that femme would invariable lead to a discussion about the Prime, and he already knew too much.

"Smokes, I need to ask you something. How bad is this gonna' slag the Prime?"

The sniper blinked at the question, and wondered if Hound could read minds. His typically air of self-assurance slipped, he couldn't look at Hound. "Why do think it would affect the Prime?"

Hound shifted, and leaned back, his shoulders clunked against the wall. "I'm not a mindless drone." He held up a hand with one finger raised, the rest curled, tight against his palm. "Prime ordered me to find her before any of us knew something was wrong." He extended another finger. "They spend time alone together." A third finger uncurled. "He shares his quarters with her." A forth finger went up. "He openly admits to preferring femmes." The fifth and opposable digit spread from his palm. "And Velocity hasn't shown any signs of being interested in any of the others."

"You realize that all of these things are purely circumspect on your part? Every point you just made can be easily argued and rendered null and void. I would suggest refraining from spreading gossip and keeping any discussion of the Prime's possible connection to Velocity between you and me."

The tracker's optic shutters narrowed his gaze intense. "What do you know?"

Smokescreen sighed again, giving himself a couple of astroseconds to determine a course of action. Hound had a processor and he knew how to use it. The mech could see through subtle nuances of gestures and words, and he could make connections that weren't always obvious. He had already figured things out, and any attempt to obscure the truth would be meet with disappointment or cold hostility. "I know that if the Decepticons figure any of this out, we will lose more than Velocity" He turned his head back to meet Hound's gaze, making sure that the mech understood his words.

Hound covered his face with both hands. "Slag me," he mumbled into his palms, his voice muffled. He dropped his hands and they thudded against the bunk. "What do we do now? Only bunch of glitched drones would stand around with their digits up their ports."

Smokescreen shifted his weight, crossing his legs in front of him. He turned to face the reclining tracker. "I have an idea, but you will have to talk to Miss. Cutter when she wakes up…"

_**XxxX**_

Tools and odd items hung from pegs on the walls and lined the shelves, a random assortment of mismatched items and seemingly useless bits. Unlike Wheeljack's shop, order existed here, scraps and ingots lay, carefully organized; the tools gleamed, cleaned and polished; and the floor free of debris. This was Velocity's workroom, a space she dominated. Ironhide wondered if Optimus intended to stumble into this chamber. Did he still feel the fading energy of her presence here? Did they have special conversations in here? He and Chromia had some of their most meaningful moments at a back table in a dive of an energon bar in Iacon's residential district. He shook his head, clearing away the old memories.

Ironhide watched the Prime, paying close attention to the hum of gears and the creek of metal rubbing against metal. He observed the way that Optimus stared, seemingly oblivious to everything, and how the slightest movement brought the Commander's optics into sharp, hostile focus. He noticed the way the young mech's fingers twitched at odd noises, the cold bite of Prime's energy field and the tense silence hung around the mech.

His spark sank, fear and uncertainty moved like a corrosive sludge in his processor. The ancient warrior ignored the uncomfortable emotions, roughly shoving them aside as unimportant; they wouldn't serve him or anyone else any good. He also ignored the familiar brush along an eons old bond, a welcome, but unneeded distraction.

He continued to stare at his friend and leader, refusing to disturb the fragile calm that had settled around the other mech. Optimus sat on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, knees bent in front of him, serving as rests for his forearms. A dangling hand shivered and the mech cycled his vents.

Prime had scared the lubricant out of all of them. His rage had boiled to the surface, threatened becoming brutal action. Ironhide intentionally placed himself between Optimus and the others, knowing that if the Prime lost control, he had the best chance of slowing him down. But Optimus pulled himself back, but the effort cost him. Once, in the privacy of his quarters, he massive mech collapsed, crumpling into a shaking mass of metal. Only his pleas kept Ironhide from calling Ratchet.

Ironhide silently cursed himself. He hated having to choose between duty and friendship. He cursed Optimus for thinking with his spark and not his processor. He cursed Velocity for worming her way into their lives and he promised a cruel and torturous death to any Decepticon that touched her. He cursed Ratchet for continuously demanding updates.

::Stall your nagging, you rusted-out, old, glitching, waste reclamator!::

::I want an update on the Prime's condition and I want it now!:: The medic snapped back over the internal communications link.

::When something happens, I'll let you know.:: Ironhide closed the link, disconnecting his end, so he didn't have to listen to the CMO rant at him.

Haunted blue optics stared up at him, and he looked away. He shifted his weight, easing the discomfort in his hip. Giving up, he walked to where the Prime sat. Moving stiffly, he lowered his bulk onto the floor, and leaned against the wall. With his legs crossed in front of him, he finally glanced at the over at Optimus.

The Prime had turned his attention to the metal sculpture in the center of the room. His frame heaved as he cycled again. Then, he shuttered his optics and the back of his head thudded against the wall.

Ironhide tensed, every coil in his frame tight with concern. "Prime?"

"I am… functional," the words carried monumental exhaustion, the sound of a mech on the verge of shutdown.

Ironhide started to stand, but a hand on his thigh stayed his movements. "Sit. I will continue to function."

The battle scared, old mech settled into a cross-legged position once again. Time ticked by before the Prime spoke again. His words came slowly, stilted and deep with hopelessness. "She had almost finished with it."

Ironhide frowned; confused, until he focused on the sculpture. He studied Velocity's creation appreciating the fluid lines and gentle curves. He noticed the seamless welds, and tender skill used to shape and mold the alloys. She had taken the likeness of an organic creature and captured it in a metal body. An unsettling tickle ran up his spinal assembly. He looked away, resting his gaze on the safety of the ceiling panels.

He decided that he didn't care for the sculpture.

"How is she?" he finally asked Optimus.

The Prime barely moved. "Terrified, alone and suffering. She has distanced herself from me, but I feel her."

Ironhide nodded. "Can you enter her thoughts like you could Elita?"

Optimus stiffened. "No."

Ironhide paused; no one talked about Elita, especially near Optimus. Those that had knew her still missed her. She had been an inspiration to femme and mech alike. Her calm, serene confidence helped establish the tone of Optimus's reign, and millions had grieved over her assassination.

A deep sigh rattled from the Prime. "I do not have that kind of a connection to Velocity. Her thoughts are... different, and we both have to concentrate for even the slightest link."

Ironhide simply nodded.

A soft whir of gears hinted that the Prime had shifted; Ironhide turned to find Optimus starting at him. "What has Ratchet decided?"

The weapons specialist held his gaze. "His plan is to force you into stasis lock, hoping to minimize the effects of…" He could not bring himself to accept that they might lose Velocity. He liked that annoying little femme. She wasn't afraid to pick a fight with him and happily accepted the consequences. She didn't back down, and she could cause more trouble than her worth. More importantly, she made Optimus happy. The war had eroded away much of Optimus's innocence and enthusiasm, but when he was with Velocity, small glimpses of that young mech shone through.

Prime grunted. "I figured as much."

"Is that why you are hiding in your quarters?"

The Autobot commander remained silent, not answering the question.

Ironhide couldn't blame Optimus, had it been him, he wouldn't be anywhere near the base. Being forced into stasis lock was an unpleasant and sometimes traumatizing experience, not a procedure that any Cybertronian medic took lightly.

Silence stretched between them. He didn't like seeing Optimus like this; it hurt. He wanted to fix the problem, to run in with cannons a blazing, mowing down any 'Con stupid enough to step within his sights. He curled his hand into a massive fist, and punched the floor next to him; the force of the impact shook the walls and rattled Velocity's tools.

Optimus blinked slowly, his expression frighteningly blank, devoid any emotions he might be feeling. "My sentiments, exactly."

Ironhide rose to his feet, frustration and anger forcing him into motion. Waiting patiently had never been a skill he acquired or even understood. He took two short steps towards the Prime, and straddled the great mech's feet. With his hands on his hips, he glared at Optimus. "You need to pull it together. Sitting here on our afts ain't gonna fix the problem. We need to find her and slag every 'con within four thousand dunteks. Get your aft up and act like the fragging fucking Prime."

He turned and headed towards the door, not waiting to see if his words would stir the Prime into action. At the threshold he paused, and let time tick by. He didn't hear Optimus, not one servo or gear humming or grinding to signify movement. Ironhide sighed wearily, and looked over his shoulder. Optimus had not moved, if anything he seemed to sag further, under an invisible weight.

"I am tired. I am tired of the endless war and the death. I am tired of failing."

Ironhide wanted to say something, but only hollow placates came to his vocals, so he muted them.

Optimus continued. "I failed her. I told her that I would keep her safe and look what has happened. Ironhide, I felt Soundwave inside of her mind. We both know what 'Bots are like once he has finished with them."

Ironhide did know. More than once, he had pressed the barrel of a rifle against the spark case and fired, ending the life of a fellow Autobot. Mercy killings to end the suffering of a friend or ally who's mind Soundwave had unraveled. Trying to heal what had been left of shattered sparks proved futile, and with rations tight and resources limited…

He felt cold. Just thinking about that 'Con, chilled the energon in his lines. He never want to see anyone else he cared about reduced to an insane screaming mass of spent metal.

He walked towards Optimus, and squatted in front of his leader. His hip moaned in protest, sending sharp stabs down his leg, but he refused to give into the pain. He took Optimus's hands in his. "For the sake of the others, act like the Prime."

Optimus stared at him, defeat radiating off him. He sighed, and then waved for Ironhide to move back.

Ironhide stood and gave the commander room to stand.

_**XxxX**_

One of their kind had killed a dozen people and leveled the Groom Lake Research Facility, setting off a surge of panic that had rippled across the country and given credence to new hate groups. _Then,_ not only had the Autobots missed the congressional hearing addressing that matter, they had taken an unapproved route cross country, to return to their base. In addition, they didn't seem to care, ignoring all summonsing and forms of communications.

Secretary of Defense Miriam Hernandez adjusted her headset, lowering the volume, and then continued reading through the files on her lap. She stared at an image of the Autobot leader. He towered over the people around him. The brief dossier stated that he was "approachable, amiable, rational, and frequently compliant".

She snorted to herself. Optimus Prime had recently shown that he could be anything but compliant.

The blades of the helicopter she rode in sliced the air. The deep "whoomph whoomph" of the rotors drowned out all other sounds, and vibrated the bones inside her body. She hated the helicopter and the suspicious looks from the armed airmen with her, but this was helluva lot faster than charter jet.

Only recently confirmed to her office, she had yet to meet the robotic aliens, and needed to play catch-up. Nothing in her courses at Princeton, her shot political career had prepared her for this. She hadn't even had time to go through the stacks and stacks of material concerning the aliens. And that was just the tip of the iceberg, rumors circulated around the Defense Department that tons, literal tones of material and evidence had disappeared from Sector7 in the last hours of the agency's existence. Fortunately, forty-year-old reports wouldn't offer any insight on the current "situation", so she only had to focus on the most immediate material.

She could have relied upon the former Secretary Keller, but that would be akin to admitting that she wasn't prepared to function as the new SecDef and call the aliens to heel. The US and perhaps the world would judge her on her ability to deal with the aliens and their blatant disregard for the government regulations and sanctions.

Hernandez closed that file and opened another one, a report from General Pittenger. He expressed concern about unknown enemy activity in the area and an attack on one of the Autobots, and a former Sector 7 agent. General Pittenger had proven that he sympathized with the Autobots and that fact alone called his opinion into question. Anyways, if the Decepticons were on the move domestic security forces would have noticed the activity. The government had spend millions beefing up Homeland Security and ensuring that they could keep tabs on all of the massive Cybertronians, identified and unidentified. They assured the President that they had developed new technologies that could accurately locate and pinpoint the electrical field that surrounded the aliens.

Secretary Hernandez closed the files and placed them back in her briefcase. She had absolute faith in the military and DHS and their ability to monitor Decepticon activity. Their reports stated that other than the incident near Las Vegas, the hostile NBEs have kept to themselves, as everyone assumed that they would.

In her assessment, as long as the Autobots stayed on their base, Decepticon activity would remain low, and collateral damage would remain low.

_**XxxX**_

The mech came and went, checking on her at irregular intervals, but true to his word, he had left her alone. He did not speak to her, acting as if she was barely worth his notice. She slowly realized that she had nothing to fear from this Decepticon, as long as she remained still and quiet. His lack of interest offered her a reprieve from the terror that had ensnared. Unable to maintain the heightened state, her panic receded. Emotional exhaustion numbed her, leaving her empty and unfeeling.

Her entire frame hurt. A dull pulsating throb ceaselessly tormented her, but for the first time, she could think clearly, rationally. Lying with her arms pinned underneath her; a cold clarity crept over her while she analyzed her situation. Without her captors, she might succumb from her wounds, but if she stayed with them, they would defiantly kill her.

She stared at the ceiling of the rundown building, watching the sky lighten through the holes in the roof. An odd malaise settled over her, there wasn't a god-dammed thing she could do.

Twisting her head around, she searched the area for the Decepticon. She found only the rats, their dark bodies scurrying around a lumpy mass of cloth. Velocity shuttered her optics, letting her other senses pick up information. She listened to the rats; their tiny claws scraping the concrete, high angry squeaks pierced the darkness. Their sharp teeth gnawed on something hard. Odors of stagnant water, rotted meat, and rodent piss wafted around her. She concentrated harder, trying to ignore her agony, and focused that extra sense Cybertronians possessed, the ability to detect subtle electrical fields. She hoped to locate the warm buzz of a living electrical field, even if it would be a Decepticon. Nothing. Not even the cold hum of an active wall socket. She lay in gray dawn, completely removed from any electrical grid.

Velocity listened harder, beyond the rats; she could hear the distant drone of cars. This confused her, but the longer she thought about it the less it mattered. She had been missing for a while, and no one had come for her, the Autobots hadn't rescued her. Her emotionless state protected her from the worms of hurt and betrayal, but calloused logic didn't offer any comfort either. The Autobots hadn't rescued her, because they didn't know where to find her. For all their technological and physical advancements, they needed to know where to search, and the world was big place. She realized that she might not even be in the United States, or even in North America.

She wanted to go home.

Pinned under her; her arms ached, and strained shoulder joints screamed in pain. She struggled with the bonds that kept her arms secured behind her, but she couldn't break them. She considered activating her sword, then dismissed the idea with a cold, bitter bark of laughter. She would only skewer herself with it, giving the Decepticons something to chuckle about over cubes of high grade. Ignoring the pain, she wiggled her fingers, relieved that her hands seemed to still function.

Warm fur tickled her audio horn, and she turned her head. A plump, well-fed rodent sniffed around her, bold and unafraid. His fur glistened with an oily sheen and his beady eyes sparkled with confidence. She decided to ignore the animal; he could do little to harm her.

Her mind kept trying to slip backwards, raw and fresh memories wanted to spill forth. She didn't want them to. She didn't want to think about the slick glowing tentacles, or how they had entered into her. She refused to admit what that Decepticon had done to her, and kept telling herself that it had only been a moment, here and now gone. She worked to convince herself that the real damage for that... encounter had been to the Autobots, Optimus in particular. She ignored the ghostly tendrils, the phantom trails the Decepticon had left. If she thought about something else, she could ignore that she had been opened up and exposed.

The tickle grew into a soft pressure. Tiny claws dug at the armor further along her body. She twitched, wanting to scare the animal away. That simple movement created a searing agony that ripped through her. She hissed, trying not to scream.

The arrogant rat wouldn't give up. His soft body pressed against hers as he slipped into a gap in her side. She whimpered. She didn't want him inside her. Rats were dirt; they carried diseases and filth. Cold dread bubbled up within her. Irrational fear stated to cloud her mind. She _had_ to get the creature out of her.

She shivered; panic crept into her spark, slowly contaminating her mind. It was inside her.

It was inside her.

IT WAS INSIDE HER!

She yelped and thrashed around, trying to dislodge the creature. White-hot agony exploded, every sensor screamed in protest. She gasped uselessly, the data flood overclocked her processor and a brilliant light blinded her. She ignored it all and continued to struggle. She had to get him out of her. She didn't want the rat inside her. She didn't want a Decepticon inside of her. She didn't want anyone near her. She just wanted to be left alone. She didn't want any of this. She just wanted to go home, but her friends hadn't come for her. They hadn't saved her.

She screamed, long and low. The wretched sound carried all of her anger, pain and fear. She kicked out blindly, and her foot contacted with a stack of pallets. They tumbled to the ground with an ear shattering clatter. A fat black rat scampered away from her, his pink tail bouncing along the concrete behind him.

Velocity violently kicked out again, scattering the pallets. She snarled and rolled onto her stomach, pain torturing her and fueling her. She wanted the pain. When her body hurt, she could ignore the pain within her soul. She dug one shoulder into the concrete, bracing herself and pulled one leg under her. She struggled with her other leg, but finally tucked it under her. She reared up, kneeling in the decrepit building.

That was as far as she went. Agony racked her body. She convulsed, losing her balance then collapsed on the ground. Her systems glitched and shutdown, an emergency reboot to keep from over clocking her processor. In a fraction of a second, she went from suffering the worst pain she had ever known to... nothing.

As systems onlined she wondered if she had died. Activating her optics, she glanced around. The area around her was littered with moldy, broken slats of wood, but the rats had disappeared. Her chronometer told her she had only been offline less than a minute, but she wasn't certain she could trust it. She moaned, and rolled onto her side. She couldn't take anymore and what she had just gone through left her exhausted. She wanted to sleep.

Velocity curled into a ball as best she could, and pulled her good leg against her chest, she glanced down at her other one. A thick cable snaked between armored plates and through gears. When she moved, it rubbed against sensors and frayed delicate wires, sending pain shooting along relays. A nasty black resin oozed and dripped wherever the cable had entered her. Trash stuck to the viscous fluid. The Decepticons had maimed her. They had made sure she couldn't walk, run or crawl away, cruelly imprisoning her without bars.

Heavy foot falls thundered around her, and before she could fully reverse her shutdown protocol, a massive hand snatched her off the ground. She blinked, staring optic to optic with Overdrive, his features filled with annoyance as he glared at her.

Panic reasserted itself, burning away the sleepy fog. Realization hit her. "A rat. A rat…" she stammered.

"Mute it," he snarled. Pulling her closer to him, he continued to frown. "You have bothered me. Now, I will bother you."

_**XxxX**_

A/N: Thank you to all those that comment, critique, fav and watch my fics or me. I cannot believe that ya'll have stuck it out with me this long, and it might take an ever longer while to finish this fic, but I will finish it. Loves from the humble Author.


	36. Mirage

**rRating: M **Language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

**Disclaimer**: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**XxxX**_

_**Mirage**_

_**XxxX**_

With each step, his peds crushed the pebbled ground, and clouds of minute particles puffed upwards. The ever-present dust hung around him; it coated his armor, and irritated his gyros. Cybertron did not have dust in this quantity, but then again, Cybertron did not have dirt… rocks, plants, insects, animals or noisy humans.

He missed Cybertron. He had been gone from home for far too long.

He slowed his pace, as he approached the designated co-ordinates, and carefully observed his surroundings. The nearby star hung high in the sky, a blinding flat disk that even mechs couldn't look at without engaging special filters to protect their optics. The harsh light created tight, anemic shadows that hid beneath the objects that cast them. However, this area held little to cast even the faintest shadow, a world of dirt and light. If it wasn't for the dark wound of a ravine nearby, this place would have nothing.

He searched for organic life-signs, not wanting to be interrupted by a dim-witted native. Only the faint electro-static signals of minuscule heartbeats showed on his HUD, a myriad of primitive animal hidden in the ground and under rocks. Inconsequential.

He stood alone in the barren plain, away from the hustle and bustle of the base. He shuttered his optics and reveled in the silent solitude, a rare delight. He relaxed, letting the tension ease from his frame.

An alarm sounded in his internal audios, jarring him back to wakefulness. He stiffened, and adjusted his HUD displays. A blip appeared. A tiny red dot marked the energy signature of a Cybertronian far in the distance, too far for a visual confirmation. He sent a coded message to the interloper, if he didn't receive the correct answer he had more than enough time to retreat.

A chime announced an incoming signal, and he activated his array to receive it. The unseen mech responded appropriately, but he didn't relax. He only waited.

Several breem passed and a glint of light shone in the distance, visible rays bouncing off a polished surface. Nothing in _this _desert reflected light.

His pump pounded in his chest and his hypercoils tightened. He despised dealing with this mech, it always turned… personal. He forced his systems to slow, trying to hide his anxiety.

Mirage crossed arms over his chest and widened his legs to a comfortable stance. He forced an aura of calm confidence permeated his electrical field. Continuously, reminding himself that he had nothing to worry about, and that they would both benefit from this exchange.

The pinpoint of light grew larger as it neared, becoming a brilliant beacon, a warning signal. The glare morphed into the wavy shape of a silver Earth vehicle. He scanned the other mech, making sure that his formidable weapons systems remained offline.

They did.

A dozen histers away the mech braked, sliding on the loose soil and kicking up great billows of debris.

Mirage waved the dust away from his intakes, annoyed at the others lack of dignity. The staccato of transformation gears shifting and moving reached his audios. The cloud settled, and a shimmering vestige stood where the silver car had once been.

The newcomer smiled widely and opened his arms in greeting, tipping his head in a mock bow. "I have left my weapons offline; I trust that you have done the same."

Without uncrossing his arms, Mirage snorted, but a smile tugged at his facial plates. "Had I wanted you dead, you would have never seen me."

The silver Cybertronian chuckled, dropping his arms. He stood erect and placed his hands on his hips. His congenial smile never wavered. "Primus, Mirage. How long has it been?"

Mirage's mercurial smile vanished. "I didn't come here to swap pleasantries; you said you had information..."

The Decepticon waved away all concerns with a casual gesture. "Oh, we have plenty of time to discuss that Pit-spawned femme. I would rather catch up with an old friend… that is so much more important. Don't you agree?" He continued to smile, but the happiness never reached his optics, leaving his expression cold and predatory.

"One hundred and seventy-eight astoliters is more than enough to pay for information on Velocity."

"Is this what our friendship has been reduced to?" His facial plates turned downward into a frown. "I remember when we could talk for hours over a few cubes of high-grade, and now look at us. What has happened?" Hardcore's words oozed like thick oil, a forced, feigned, sentimental wistfulness.

"The war has happened," he spat, unable to hide his revulsion. He looked upward, hating the pale blue atmosphere, longing for the spiraling structures and ethereal glow of Cybertron. He turned his attention back to the Decepticon, watching his every shift in expression, his every change in gesture and stance. He searched for tells, clues that hinted at the mech's intentions.

In a flash, the Decepticon's mood changed. The false sentimentality vanished, replaced with jovial excitability. "Speaking of the War, how have you managed to win your way back into the Prime's good graces? The last I heard, half of the Autobots wanted your head for helping Jetfire escape."

_He is taunting me._ Mirage arrogantly thrust his chin in the air, showing that the words did not bother him. "Ironhide, himself, cleared me."

Hardcore's shutters snapped open in surprise. Even his jaw loosened a little. "Ironhide?" He almost shouted the name, and then cackled hysterically. "The old mech too stupid to die, and tends to the Prime like a spark-nurse? He swore he would smelt down anyone involved with the Femme Offensive and here you are, still functioning. Oh, Primus. You have to tell me everything. I can imagine the look on that old fool's face, he must have fritzed when he decided he couldn't terminate you himself."

The Autobot glared at the other mech and placed his hands firmly on his hips, but he remained silent, letting the Decepticon enjoy himself.

"Slag me. The last I heard, the evidence was so overwhelming that a thousand credit reward had been placed for your head. Are you certain that you don't have compromising vidcams of Ironhide and are blackmailing him." he chuckled. "I can't believe that he even bothered investigating you. Wouldn't it have been easier to just execute you and call the issue resolved?"

Mirage wrapped his dignity around him like a cloak, and kept his chin haughtily thrust into the air. Annoyance laced his words, "Those tactics belong to the Decepticons. The Prime holds Autobots to higher standards.

"Ironhide lead the investigation and he found Jazz's accusations groundless. I might have been at the holding facility at the time, but I had nothing to do with the escape. The Prime himself verified the findings and dropped the charges. I didn't even have to go before a tribunal." He made sure that the last sentence carried a note of spoiled petulance.

Hardcore's shoulders shook with silent laughter, but his expression remained incredulous. "You didn't do it? You didn't help Jetfire?"

"No." Mirage crossed his arms over his chest. He shifted his weight, and glanced towards the stark bareness of the desert. Nothing should ever be so open and empty.

"Then why did you have to escape onto a neutral evacuation ship? Don't tell me you wanted to sight see."

Mirage huffed, "Has it ever occurred to you that the 'evacuation ship' was actually an exploration and mining vessel. We needed new sources of energon, and I had been asked if I wanted the assignment. Autobot Command offered it to me, I wasn't forced to leave."

The Decepticon shook his head in disbelief. "You must have used some high viscosity oil to slip your way out of that situation."

Mirage narrowed his optic shutters, glaring at his companion. "I told you, I wasn't involved in that _situation_." His hands momentarily tightened into tight fists before he forced them to relax.

Hardcore's frame continued to twitch with mirth, but he remained silent on the subject. Instead, he looked skyward, then to the east. He turned, and Mirage felt the tingle of a general detection sweep, there, and then gone. "I know you have more energon stashed somewhere on this rock. " The Decepticon winked.

Mirage stared at the other mech, his face a mask of pleasant neutrality. The Autobot decided to push his agenda, tired of skirting the issue. "Have you seen her?"

The silver mech frowned in confusion. "Her who? Oh, yes, her. Of course I have seen her; an Autobot femme can cause quite a stir amongst the troops." He chuckled softly and looked towards a nearby ravine. "Am I to assume that Autobot Command wants information on her wellbeing, so they sent you? 'Is she still functioning? Where is she located? Can we get her back?' Oh, I can image the list of questions you are supposed to ask."

Mirage shrugged, keeping his demeanor blasé. "If you must know, they didn't send me. I have come here on my own. What I tell them depends upon the rewards that they wish to offer."

Hardcore stopped staring into the distance and turned to face Mirage. A sly smirk bloomed into a wide smile. "That is a pile of slag, and you know it." He stepped closer, the friendly smile slid into a serious expression, his finger taped the Autobot in the chest. "Let me ask you this: whom does she please? Which one of your commanders does she service? If she isn't, then why bother trying to get her back."

The Autobot leaned forward, pressing against the 'Con's finger, glaring. "The Prime cares for all of those beneath him. He would do the same for any mech in similar situation."

"Really? Tell that to the thousands upon thousands your Prime has sent into battle knowing that their sparks would be extinguished."

Fury exploded along Mirage's circuits, but he held it in check. Only a twitch of his weapon hand gave any hint of his anger. Hardcore knew nothing of Optimus Prime; he could not understand the brutal decisions that the war forced the Prime to make.

He needed to pull the conversation away from personal subjects and back towards his goal. He forced himself to ignore the mech's taunts.

Mirage sneered, lifting the edge of his mouth, showing his dental plates. "As far as I know, she isn't attached to anyone: solider, sergeant or commander. Why are you so certain that she is?" As he said the words, cold suspicions unfurled in his spark, and mixed with his ire. He looked away, staring at a tuft of vegetation clinging to life in the hard soil. Hardcore's words teased at a possibility Mirage had yet to consider, but he couldn't indulge his curiosity and ask questions. The Decepticon did not need more fuel with which to antagonize him.

He took an astroseconds to collect himself, and shift his thoughts back to his primary objectives. "More importantly, what condition is she in? Does she still function?"

The silver mech glanced around, his fingers tapping softly against his leg. He winked at Mirage, but his optics held a calculating coldness that could chill energon.

Abruptly, the mech turned and walked towards a gully. His footfalls stirred the dirt and vibrated the ground.

Mirage stiffened, his hands curled and uncurled in frustration. A seed of uncertainty had taken root in his mind, planted by a lifelong friend and his own unrequited desires. It chafed him, irritating and distracting. His thoughts kept turning towards those uncertainties, wanting to dwell on them, figure out if they held any merit. Right now, though he had to contend with other issues.

He hurried forward and slapped a firm hand on the Decepticon's shoulder, spinning the mech to face him. "I asked you a question."

Hardcore snarled, and stepped backwards, shaking off Mirage's grip. "You forget your place young noble. The next time you touch me like that, expect me to remind you."

The insult fueled the frustration that swelled within Mirage. No longer a meek mech just starting out on his own, he was a mature Cybertronian. Someone that had witnessed friends perish in battle, and his home devastated by war. He would not let the insult slide.

He stepped into Hardcore's energy field, allowing his to crackle against it. "You have spent too much time intimidating those weaker than you and have forgotten that before the war, I was sparked into a higher station than you." Without pause, he sidestepped and brushed past the Decepticon and continued towards the edge of the ravine. It gave Hardcore a few astroseconds to absorb his words, and an excuse to create a buffer of several histers between him and the 'Con.

The sun had moved in the sky and the embankment that he stood upon had started to cast deep shadows on the dry riverbed. Below him, a legless reptile unwound from its hiding place in a crevice and slid onto a rock. He watched the way that is slithered across the slick stones. Uninterested in creature itself, it gave him something to focus his optics on, a visual distraction.

The Decepticon continued to attempt to wrest control of this meeting from him. He had to lead the exchange, and keep Hardcore in his place.

The Autobot shifted his facial plates to mimic an expression of boredom, and shouted over his shoulder, "If you do not wish to discuss the femme, that is fine by me, but I do have to return to base before my absence is noted." He turned and stared pointedly at the Decepticon. "I will just save my energon for another day."

The Decepticon's facial plates shifted, showing the cold void of his optics. His silence radiated contemptuous ire, as he stalked forwards, closing the distance between them.

Mirage resisted the urge to move away from the other mech. He knew that Hardcore could be dangerous, a sadistic killer, but he wagered that the mech's need to secure fuel took precedence over violence.

They continued to stare at each other and astroseconds ticked by. Then, a malicious grin slowly tilted the Decepticon's facial plates. He shrugged calmly. "I have seen her. When I left, she was recovering from a near meltdown, but appeared functional."

The Autobot only nodded, concealing his surprise. If they allowed her the time and solitude to recover, he surmised that they wanted to keep her alive… for now. Death from a meltdown was a hard way to join the Matrix. Metals heated up, becoming brittle, susceptible to breakage under normal stresses. Seals and gaskets warp, letting vital fluids seep out, compromising hydraulics, lubricants and the grease packed around the pump could boil. The victim endured damage to the processor as chips and wires melted destroying signal paths and memories. Eventually, the primary core that held and maintained the spark would fail, splitting at the seams.

He resisted shuddering. Losing the femme to the Decepticons did not bother him, but he could think of better ways to leave this existence.

Hardcore moved cautiously next to him. The subtle tingle of the Decepticon's electrical field brushed softly against his. He did not move or shy away, showing the other mech that he forgave the tiff. He doubted either of them believed the gestures of friendship, just part of the game they played.

"Do you have access to her?" Mirage asked. "I need to know if you can take me to see the femme… only as proof to her condition," he added hastily. If Hardcore took him to see the Velocity, he could return to the Prime with the co-ordinates for a Decepticon stronghold. He doubted that the enemy stayed in one place like the Autobots, instead relied on several hiding places. Even locating one would prove his unwavering loyalty, and garner him the Prime's attention.

Hardcore crossed his arms over his chest, and shifted his weight. He chuckled. "How stupid do you think that I am? What do you think would happen if I strolled into base with an Autobot in tow, and he wasn't a prisoner or a burned out husk?"

Mirage shrugged. "I am sure we could work something out."

Hardcore's optic shutters narrowed, and his mouth components drew together, pursing his lips. "I doubt that will ever happen. Perhaps, the Autobots are willing to exchange something her?"

Mirage frowned. He knew the limits of what he could and could not offer, but… "They might consider such a possibility."

"Good, so would I. Where is my reward for tolerating your incessant questioning?"

Mirage sneered at Hardcore, openly displaying his disgust for the other mech.

The Decepticon smirked, his optics burning with cold confidence.

Unease slipped into Mirage's spark, a gnawing certainty that he had made a mistake. He kept his expression contemptuously pleasant, hiding the swelling disquiet.

"It's stored underground eight point two four hics from here, secured an abandoned building." Something did not sit well with Mirage, and he wanted to be on his way. A nagging suspicion in the back of his processor told him to leave. He had what he needed, and longed for the security of ally mechs around him.

Hardcore's smirk spread to an open, joyous grin, and the sunlight glared harshly off his polished armor and slick metal. Mirage felt a change in Hardcore's electrical field, a hint that came too late.

Mirage stepped to the side while ducking at the same time.

The Decepticon launched himself, a sliver blur in the afternoon brilliance. Mirage didn't have time to defend himself or activate his weapons, before the full weight if the larger mech slammed into him. He tittered on the edge of the ravine, scrambling wildly to arrest his fall. His arms flailed and his hands clutched the open air.

For an infinitesimal moment nothing surrounded him, air whistled through the gaps in his frame. Then he slammed into the ground.

He didn't stall out or wait, the game had changed. He flipped over, and drew his legs underneath him, rearing up. Kneeling, he braced his back against the embankment and bought his primary weapon online. He activated his cloaking device. Light waves bent and warped around him, hiding his form. He faded into the rocks and dirt that surrounded him.

Mirage stared down the sights of his rifle, trying to get a bead on the Decepticon. He swung the weapon in a tight pattern, searching, his finger on the trigger and his pump pounding in his frame.

Battle protocols onlined and evaluated his position. It wasn't good. The gully offered him little cover, and the narrow walls impeded defensive maneuvers. He needed to retreat. A one-on-one confrontation with Hardcore would leave one or both of them damaged or dead.

The Autobot lowered his weapon enough to look over his sights, his optics offering him a much wider field of vision than the narrow scope. The ridge above him remained empty, devoid of the Decepticon's silhouette. Mirage forced his finger to loosen on the trigger, but continually scanned the edge, where the ground touched the sky. Wanting to skyline Hardcore, and blow a hole in his chassis.

He waited, not bothering to run a sensor sweep, knowing that Hardcore would have already jammed his comms and blocked his ability to detect electrical fields. He had dealt with Hardcore for vorns and knew of his love of depriving mechs of their sensors. Once, it had been an annoying prank, now he utilized it as a weapon, ensuring the advantage in battle.

Half a cycle ticked by.

The terran wind whistled through the gully, it stirred up dirt and dried plant debris. Mirage slowly and quietly shifted his weight to one knee, moving the other leg until he could pull it up and rested his weight on a ped. His sharp focus wavered and weary boredom eroded his concentration. His mind slipped towards the unanswered questions that swirled underneath the surface.

Grinding his dental plates in frustration, he shook his head, and dislodged the errant thoughts, sending them sinking back to the recesses of his mind. He tried scanning the area again and his sensors reported absolutely nothing. His facial plates shifted into a snarl.

"What the frag?" He shouted in Common Cybertronian, his voice echoed along the ravine, rebounding again and again until it faded away.

Pebbles bounced down the incline above him, then pinged onto his shoulder, giving his location away. With sharp, precise movements, he arched his back and craned his neck to see the ledge above him. He swung his rifle straight up, his arms tight, and his optic peering down the sights. The heavy, rapid drum of his pump pounded in his audios.

More rocks tumbled down the ledge, and the Autobot's frown deepened. His finger rested on the trigger, ready to fire. Mirage cycled once, relaxing, readying to make the kill shot.

"You sound like a crude labor-bot." Hardcore's supple tones came from all sides, carried along on the desert wind.

Gears whined in discomfort, but Mirage didn't move. "Why did you attack me?"

"To prove a point." The echo of the Decepticon's voice had changed. It came from a different angle.

Mirage lifted his head slightly, pulling away from his weapon. Audios strained to pin-point the direction of the voice. He turned his head slightly, chasing the sound, but the echoes refused to divulge their source

"You have grown complacent. All these vorns you have hidden behind bigger mechs, peeking out from the Prime's legs like a scared sparkling." Hardcore's voice faded away.

It came from across the gully now. "How can you do it? How can you follow that degenerate, knowing what he did to our world? Once, I could have understood your fascination with the new Prime. We were all vying for his favor and attention, but now…"

The cold burn of anger spread in his spark. Mirage growled, the smooth, threatening purr of his engine charged the air around him. He clamped down on his emotions. Blind rage wouldn't help him. "You don't have to understand my choices."

Peds softly whumped nearby, and a sardonic laugh cut the air. "You're correct, you don't have to explain a thing to me, but let me ask you this? In all these vorns, has he even noticed you? Has he even acknowledged your dedication? When will you realize that Optimus Prime will never honor your service to him?"

Mirage's hands tightened around his rifle, and he pulled it against his chest, a protective talisman. Small tremors ran along his body, and he ground his dental plates together. He stared at the rocky slope across from him, every tiny pebble stood out in harsh detail. Rage pulsed through him. Millennias of rejection bubbled to the surface. He shuttered his optics, and dropped his head. He inhaled, pulling air over his intakes, hoping that the cold would extinguish his anger. He cycled several times before he spoke.

"That is my concern." His words held all of the pent up emotions, and frustrations that chafed his spark.

"Mirage, you are chasing a comet's tail. Come back with me. You know that you always have a place with us."

The comforting warmth in the Decepticon's voice acted like laced energon. His head snapped up and his optic shutters flew open. He barked in bitter laugher. "Really? Thank you, no. I enjoy living too much. How about I return your offer? When you get tired of following the orders of a sadistic lunatic you can defect to the Autobots. The Prime still offers sanctuary to those who ask for it."

Silence settled around him. He listened for the fall of a ped, or the hum of a gear.

Nothing.

"What? Not having to grovel to your superiors sounds unappealing!"

Mirage craned his neck, trying to get a cleared view of the ledge above him. A tiny bird peeked over the lip of the ravine. It hopped along poking at the ground with its beak, unconcerned with the affairs of mechs.

He sighed, and ran a sweep of the area. Minute electrical pulses filled his HUD, the life signs of Earth animals. Hardcore had gone.

The Autobot's frame sagged with relief. He took a few astroseconds to subdue his racing pump, shut down battle programs, and turn off his cloaking mechanism.

The little bird squawked and flew off.

On weak, stiff legs, he stood, and braced his free hand against the incline.

Mirage turned and walked along the gully, his rifle in hand. He wouldn't stow his weapon until he was absolutely certain that the Decepticon had left the area. One ped fell in front of the other, stirring up the dirt.

_**XxxX**_

Heavy clouds blanketed the sky, and blocked the moon, smothering the desert in darkness. His headlights cut through the gloom, twin lances piercing the night. He sped along the dirt trails as fast as his he could, his chassis scraping and pounding along the potholes and dips.

Mirage ignored the discomfort every time he bottomed out on the ruts in the road. He had already crumpled a corner his fender on a particularly nasty spot, but it would heal. He wanted to reach the security of the base.

His mind turned relentlessly, a jumbled mess as fearful anxiety unfurled within his spark. Hardcore's words planted the seeds of doubts, and during the long, solitary drive back to the base, those seed had taken root. Mirage wondered if desire blinded him, warping his perceptions. He wondered if, during his absence, another usurped his place. He wondered if the Decepticon lied to compromise his loyalty, attempting to tempt him to join the enemy. He wondered about many things, and his spark ached, a dull throb in the middle of his being.

He crested a hill. Below, nestled on the black plain, glowed the Autobot base. He didn't pause to consider the austere practicality of the low-lying buildings and the tight rows of Earth war vehicles. Such mundane trivialities meant nothing to him. He revved his engine, and raced down slope, descending, using gravity to gain momentum.

Ahead of him snaked a ribbon of asphalt. He pulled onto the paved road and accelerated. His tired squealed, and his backend fishtailed slightly as he raced forward. He headed towards the base, headless of anything around him, to distracted by his thoughts to care.

_How can you follow that degenerate, knowing what he did to our world? _

He downshifted to build torque, and then slammed into top gear.

_Tell that to the thousands upon thousands your Prime has sent into battle knowing that their sparks would be extinguished_.

The high whine of his engines echoed in his audios, but it could not drown out Hardcore's words.

_When will you realize that Optimus Prime will never honor your service to him?"_

Anger, jealousy and bitter realizations cycloned within him. He could not outrun or outmaneuver the truth.

The Autobot blew through the first security checkpoint, refusing to stop or even slow. The soldiers operating it waved their arms frantically, but wisely jumped out of his way. His low sitting form zipped beneath the descending traffic bar, a blur in the dark. He did not have time to worry about the delicacies of human diplomacy, that task fell to the Prime.

Need and devotion warmed his frame at the thought of Optimus. He had known what he wanted the first time he had laid optics on the mech. He knew without a doubt where his destiny would leave him. He never gave up his dream, even when Optimus openly admitted his bond to Elita, a bond established before his ascension to Prime.

But his unanswered questions continued to plagued him. They chewed at his mind, eroding, poisoning.

On the smooth concrete, he became a sleek blue shadow, fading in and out of pools of artificial light. His tires squealed as he slid sideways around a building, disappearing into the deep gloom. Entering the dark recesses, he eased back the throttle, instantly slowing. As he rounded the side of the Autobot's hanger, he braked, rolling to a smooth stop.

Engaging his transformation gears, he quickly stood. His shoulder brushing against a collection of hollow tubes suspended from the narrow eve. They chimed in resonating notes, inadvertently announcing his arrival. Irritated, he reached back and grabbed them, pulling them down. With a flick of the wrist, he sent them sailing into the shadows, clanking as they landed and bounced.

The Decepticon's words haunted him. They swirled unabated in his mind, vile shards slicing at his confidence. He rolled the mech's insinuations around in his processor, attempting to dull them, deny them, and reason them away.

The heavy thud of peds on asphalt announced the arrival of another. Begrudgedly, Mirage pulled himself away from his thoughts, and tried to focus on his current task. He waited. Within a click, pale blue optics and pristine white armor cleaved the shadows.

"Report," Prowl ordered in Common Cybertronian. The SIC stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, his stance rigid.

Mirage narrowed his optic shutters, it rankled him when the former statute enforcement officer refused to acknowledge their differences in social standing. He snorted contemptuously. "I doubt I have much to report." He raised his hand and with his first digit, dug a dirt clot out from under the pad of his thumb.

The Autobot SIC leaned against a building, partially slipping into a shadow. His optics glowed steadily. "Did you find out where their base is located?"

Mirage cocked his head to the side and blinked. Nagging suspicions bubbled softly in his spark, misgivings whispered to him, but in his addled state, he could not pinpoint his worries. He kept his voice even and soft, but he watched the commander. "No, my contact refused to escort me to where they are keeping the femme."

Prowl's facial plates shifted, a small frown pressed his facial features together. He looked beyond Mirage, staring intently at the blank wall, his fingers tapping slowly against his upper arm. Vents cycled, heated air steamed out of the SIC, surrounding him in a cloudy mist.

He looked back at Mirage, his expression pensive, worried. "Do you think that you can convince your contact to allow you access to her?" His fingers continued to tap out a rhythm on his arm.

Slowly, with even, measured tones he answered the question, "Highly unlikely, but he did mention a possible exchange."

Prowl's shutters opened wide, and his gaze lock onto Mirage. "What did he ask for?"

Mirage ground his dental plates; they had already wasted enough resources, and received nothing in return. "He didn't have any requests, only wanted to know if we would entertain that possibility."

The tactician deflated slightly. He looked away, his optics dimmed as he withdrew into his own mind.

_Obviously weighing his options_, Mirage thought to himself, c_runching the data._ However, Mirage's processor hummed too. Prowl acted distracted, worried, and Mirage could only image a couple of scenarios that would cause the normally stoic mech to show such emotion, and this just didn't appear serious enough to warrant such a display.

The commander's words interrupted the brief silence. "Do you have anything else to report?"

Mirage shook his head, signaling negative.

His mind churned ceaselessly, trying to make sense out of all the confusing contradictory facts, but one stood out, demanding attention. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before, and realization raced along his circuits. Confusion melted into shocked understanding and indignation. They sent him out even though they already knew…

Without looking at Mirage, Prowl turned to leave. He called over his shoulder, "You have done well. As usual, keep this between ourselves, and let me know if you contact requests another meeting."

The SIC stepped twice.

He lunged forward and clamped a hand on the commander's shoulder. "You never even asked about Velocity's condition!"

Prowl whipped around, his optics flashed, lighting his features. "Remember that I _am_ a superior officer," he growled in warning.

Mirage's optic shutters narrowed as his facial features contorted into a hostile snarl. He grabbed the commander's other shoulder. "You knew that she still functioned!" he yelled. "You knew that she still functioned, and sent me out anyways! You sacrificed our fuel, filling enemy tanks and charging enemy weapons, even though you knew! Why?"

He shoved Prowl backwards, unleashing his frustration, fury and confusion on the SIC.

The black and white mech stumbled slightly, but he quickly regained his footing and closed the short distance between them. His engine rumbled deeply, and his hands clinched into tight fits, but he kept them pressed against his sides. He sucked air through his intakes. "If you are half as smart as you profess to be, then you should be able to figure things out, and when you do, I would suggest that you keep your vocals silent." His electrical field arced in the darkness, slamming against the noble-mech.

Prowl glared at him, a protective rage burned within his optics, but his face remained a cold, mask. He took a step back, but his hands remained fists, the gears whining with the strain. "If you doubt the seriousness of this situation, you can come to me and we will discuss it like soldiers."

Abruptly, the tactician tuned and stalked into the darkness, the thump of his peds faded in the distance.

Mirage staggered, his body shook from the sudden absence of the stronger electrical field. He leaned against a wall, needing the structure's support to remain on his feet. His emotions stalled, choking on their own intensity, leaving him numb.

Alone, hidden in the shadows, he paused to think.

He tried to piece together what he knew, but his thoughts whirling chaotically. He had read the reports, and knew that she hadn't made commlink contact before disappearing, but Prowl knew that Velocity still functioned.

The more he concentrated, the more confused he became.

He shuttered his optics, and ground his dental plates together. His thoughts circled around and around. _How? How did they know?_

Could the Decepticon's have already contacted the Autobot command? Unlikely.

He remembered Hardcore's words. _Whom does she please? _

_If you are half as smart as you profess to be, then you should be able to figure things out, and when you do, I would suggest that you keep your vocals silent._

But how did Prowl know?

A bond would produce a connection, a route of communication from one spark to another.

The secrecy, the SIC's odd behavior, and his willingness to give away fuel for information. Only high-ranking mech's would warrant such…

His energon froze in his lines. _It could not be. _

He couldn't accept the possibility; he didn't want to accept the possibility. He had held the dream for vorns. Even during the war, he had refused to let his dream die; he wrapped his spark around it, nurturing it, using it to keep him going.

They hadn't been together long enough, the femme hadn't been on the planet for a full orbit, barely a blink of the shutters to most Cybertronians. His tanks churned and the world listed violently. He dug his hand into the side of the wall, trying to keep himself from collapsing. His vents hitched erratically.

"No." he whispered.

The heavy clomp of peds alerted him to approaching mechs. He activated his cloaking shield and blended in with the dark spaces around him. Hound and Cliffjumper strolled by in deep conversation, oblivious to him. Once they passed, he slipped away unseen.

_**XxxX**_

Sunstreaker…

Aloof. Arrogant. Brutal. Beautiful. Not his first choice, but right now, that mech appeared to be his only choice.

Mirage sipped his energon, cautiously glancing at the brooding warrior over the rim of the container. It had taken him less than a cycle to analyze, evaluate and decide on next course of action. Perhaps the riot of pain, rejection, jealousy and spark crushing disappointment that surged through drove him to act.

Perhaps he should stop "chasing a comet's tail", but first he had to know. He had to make sure that his suspicions proved true.

His hand shook as he sat the container on the table, a tiny tremor hinting at the Autobot's apprehension. His tanks felt hollow, even though he had just refueled. The weight of his emotions suffocated his spark; they haunted his thoughts and disrupted his logic.

The Prime had taken a new bond mate, all the hints and evidence led to that conclusion. Until he proved it for himself, he refused to accept that Optimus had chosen a minor femme over him. He was a noble-mech, sparked to lead and rule. He understood the intricacies of Cybertronian government. He could handle himself with poise and grace in all social circumstances. He had worked tirelessly to learn all that he could so that one day he could stand proudly beside the Prime.

And what happened?

The Prime chose a low ranking femme.

Mirage sneered bitterly into his cube. An image of Velocity gesturing rudely to Ironhide flashed in his processor. Such unbecoming behavior would never have been tolerated. In the Chamber of The Ancients, rudeness met with swift retribution. Of all the 'Bots left alive, Optimus had to pick the crudest, most obnoxious mate he could find.

It was a slap in the face, an affront to him and Cybertron.

The mech sipped the dregs his energon, glancing sidelong at the yellow, melee warrior. Sunstreaker ignored him, and carefully flipping through the pages of a human magazine. From where he sat, Mirage could see tiny images of naked humans tangled together. Disgusting.

He would have preferred to negotiate with almost any other Autobot, but most had arrived after Velocity, and the only ones that had been planet-side before she arrived, belonged to the Prime's Inner Council, except the twins. Mirage gave up attempting to locate the more congenially twin, but Sideswipe could fade away almost as well as himself.

Time ticked by as he waited for the warrior to take his leave. Patients defined the nobles; they could carefully nurture their aspirations for vorns, calmly focused on a distant goal.

Right now, he didn't have vorns, and he needed answers.

Sunstreaker flipped the magazine closed, and with quick, efficient movements, he gathered the periodical and empty fuel container. He rose to his feet and moved towards the door.

Mirage sat his cube squarely on the table, the empty thud sounded ominously in the too quiet room. Using his hands to steady himself against the table, he stood. He left his container where it sat and stalked towards the other mech.

He hurried to catch up to Sunstreaker. The Autobots long legs carried him fairly far in a short span. Mirage had to trot to get close enough to brush against the warrior in the narrow hallway.

The astrosecond their fields touched, Sunstreaker stopped and whipped around. Mirage found himself staring into hostile, glacial blue optics. The mech's frown deepened, marring the perfection of his features.

"What?" snarled Sunstreaker, his hands crossing over his chest.

Mirage bravely stepped forward, his chest plates almost brushing against the other's armor. "I want to talk." His voice sounded sure and confident, without a trace of nervous warble.

The warrior's pale optics narrowed and his head cocked to the side slightly. "Why?"

Enmity rolled off the Autobot.

Mirage questioned the sanity of his actions, but he pressed forward, any show of weakness would only earn him a trip to Ratchet's med bay. "I was wondering if you would like to adjourn to my quarters. There is something I would like from you and I'm sure we could work out a trade." He reached out, brushing the other's wrist near his interface cover.

Sunstreaker cocked a brow-arch.

Truthfully, Mirage had no intention 6iof interfacing with the mech, just tease him; peak his interest. Their social standings were too far removed. He came from the elite upper tiers and Sunstreaker heralded from below the labor class, nothing more than fodder for the gladiatorial pits. Without his talents for creating pretty images, he never would have scraped his way out, dragging his brother with him.

"What do you want to discuss?"

Mirage glanced around suspiciously, even though he knew the corridor only held the two of them. He moved closer, whispering in the other's audio, "Not here. We need privacy."

The warrior didn't move away, instead a confident smirk quirked the side of his mouth. His energy field hummed with curiosity, not a trait Mirage would have associated with either of the twins.

Sunstreaker stepped back and with a curt nod of his head, ushered Mirage forward. His optics glowed with amusement and an indefinable expression that made Mirage's spark twist with apprehension. "Is my quarters private enough?"

Mirage only nodded ignoring the poorly spoken Common dialect, slipped past the mech and into the corridor. His pump pounded in his chest with every step.

They passed enumerable doors; closed doors, open doors, labeled doors, doors where the display showed locked. He did not realize how many doors marred the hallways of the base, and wondered why Optimus thought all of them necessary. His thoughts grasped desperately at anything mundane, refusing to acknowledge that he would be in a locked room with a potentially lethal killer.

They didn't speak to each other as they moved along the barren corridors. A couple of times they passed humans, the organics mostly ignored them, busy with their tasks. They continued on, heading deeper within the complex. Optimus had situated the Autobots' private quarters furthest from the main entrance, a buffer to protect any mech caught in recharge during an attack.

Thy walked a little further, the air between them thick with tension.

Silently, Sunstreaker glided past him and stopped at an unmarked door. Mirage realized that his own quarters sat a mere four doors away; he never cared to learn who his neighbors were.

The door slid open, and a black void awaited him. He squared his shoulders and stepped into it.

The lights came up as the door hissed close behind them, and Mirage's fuel tanks churned. He did not want to be in a locked room with Sunstreaker. In truth, he did not want to be anywhere with Sunstreaker, mechs had a way of sustaining irreparable damage while in his company. Unfortunately, this mech had the answers he sought.

He glanced around the space; it held two bunks and cluttered shelves lined one wall. He moved toward the… oddities, absently noting them: a rusty gear, a dusty sign that said "BEER", a stack of human pornography, a spherical object made from dried, organic skin. He shuddered in revulsion, quickly losing interest in the rest of the collection.

Mirage realized something was missing. "Where is Sideswipe?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Out." Came the curt answer

Instantly, Sunstreaker's energy field pressed against his back, a heated, demanding buzz. Powerful hands gripped his shoulders and slid down his arms, holding him. The rumble of an engine reverberated in the air.

Mirage froze in shock; this was not the response he expected.

He turned slightly, angling so that he could see Sunstreaker's expression. Cold, blue optics glimmered with wicked delight and sly intelligence.

A shiver ran along his spinal supports.

The yellow mech loosened his grip and allowed him to turn so they faced each other. The corner of his mouth curled into a tight smile. Sunstreaker leaned forward; his lips barely touched Mirage's audio receptor. "What exactly are we exchanging?" he whispered, his voice heavy and dark.

Mirage shivered again. His core temp rose as the other mech's field danced along his. The tantalizing sensations excited him, and his own field yielded, betraying him, reading for interfacing. For a fleeting moment, he forgot the hurt of rejection and focused on the beautiful features so close to his own.

A hand slid over his chassis, seeking out seams, teasing, taunting. It moved upwards, flicking softly at tactile sensors, making them fire. A thumb slid under his collar strut, brushing along the wires.

Mirage shuttered his optics, and pleasure pulled a moan from his vocals.

Fingers wrapped around his throat, and his optics snapped open in alarm. Sunstreaker angled his head to the side, bending it to expose wires and cables. Fear mingled with want.

Sunstreaker leaned forward, his head rubbing the side of Mirage's helm. Softly, gently metal lips brushed against his wires.

His frame shook with need. It had been so long, and his spark ached from rejection. It would be so easy to surrender, to forget the pain for a moment. He wanted to lose himself in another.

Sunstreaker nipped at his wires, carefully rolling them, and his processor faltered under the sensory overload. The mech pulled him closer, a hand pressed against his aft, fondling. His legs wobbled weakly, desire building.

Primus, no one had ever done anything like this to him. The warrior's attentions were alien and exotic, new and exciting. Another moan escaped him, and he fanaticized what this mech would feel like along his circuits. The surge of Sunstreaker's energy along his wires, raw and pulsating, driving him to overload.

Sunstreaker's field enveloped his, smothering him with his presence. It overwhelmed him, threatened to control him, and part of him wanted it to.

His pump raced, and his vents cycled rapidly, trying to cool his systems. Lips played along his jaw, tracing the shape of the metal. He shook, and every new sensation made him twitch and jump.

He slipped towards seduction and losing himself in the tantalizing touches from hands capable of ripping apart a Decepticon.

In his mind, he imagined the Prime. He pretended that Optimus held him, seducing him claiming him.

Would it be like this? The need? The senseless want? Would the Prime ever allow him the chance to interface, to show his devotion?

Without warning, the image of a red femme wrapped within Optimus's arms flashed in his processor, freezing the heat in his lines.

A hand slid below his aft, and a finger dove into the seam along his thigh. He gasped. Sunstreaker slid more of the digit into him. He touched a router, and signals exploded all over Mirage's body. The temptation to give into this mech almost overwhelmed him, but…

…But Sunstreaker was beneath him, an inferior mech.

He had trouble forcing his mind focus. The mech's attentions distracted him, and he didn't want to be distracted. He raised a hand and laid it on Sunstreaker's chest, pushing him back.

Sunstreaker complied, gently letting go and stepping back. He gave Mirage space, but his optics flashed. The knowing smirk remained on his face.

Mirage heaved, cycling his vents. "I need to know everything that you know about Velocity." He crossed his arms over his chest, and he stared at the warrior, forcing his systems to slow.

Sunstreaker cocked his head to the side, his featured slipped into a neutral expression, but his optics glowed with a calculating intelligence. "What do I get in return?" he growled, the words dripped from his vocals like venom.

Mirage's pump pounded furiously in his chest, the rush of energon in his lines filled his audios, and his head throbbed with the energy build up.

He flicked his gaze towards the door then back to Sunstreaker. The thought of interfacing with such a crude mech repulsed him regardless of the needy ache along his circuits. He was a noble, better than a random 'facing in a dark corner. "I have resources and connections at my disposal." He paused; an enticing smile spread slowly along is features. "I can arrange the fame and adoration you seek." _ Assuming you survive the war_, he thought to himself.

Sunstreaker's lip curled again, sharing a knowing smile. Mirage silently applauded himself, discovering Sunstreaker's motivation, had proven simple.

The warrior moved so fast that Mirage did not see the attack until the clank of metal striking metal rang in the air. He hurtled backwards, then slammed into the shelves behind him and fell to the ground. The twin's collection of junk rained down on him.

Stunned, he could only stare at the yellow figure before him, his vocals glitching. Panic gripped him and he sat on his aft, too afraid to move.

Sunstreaker squatted; optic level with him, the smile had vanished, replaced by an energon freezing scowl.

Mirage rubbed the dent in his chest, confusion choked his processor. He stuttered several times before he could get the words out. "Why?"

The mech leaned closer, his optics blazed with cynicism and cruelty. Their fields touched, and Mirage pulled his closer to him, shrinking within his own frame.

"Because you think you are better." The twin hissed

Mirage blinked, still trying to analyze the events and make sense of them. Truthfully, nothing made sense, he grasped at loose wires. "Did you pledge allegiance to Velocity?" The question fell out of his vocalizer; he hadn't meant to speak his thoughts.

If Sunstreaker had pledged his loyalty then he would give his life, or take another's to protect the femme.

A bitter chuckle cut through his thoughts and pulled his attention towards the mech in front of him.

"Stupid noble." Sunstreaker stood, and then bent over Mirage. His hands clamped onto the blue mech's frame and powerful gears hauled the noble to his feet as the warrior straightened.

Mirage squirmed and clawed at the fists that held him, they wouldn't open.

The mech dragged him across the room. He attempted to dig his peds in the floor, but they only slipped along the hard surface.

"Sunstreaker, you don't want to injure a fellow Autobot," Mirage whined. "That is what makes us better than the Decepticons. I can help you. I have connections." His words fell on deaf audios.

The warrior opened the door to his chamber and held Mirage up, their faces almost touching. "The only loyalty I have is to my brother," he snarled. With a heave, he unceremoniously pitched Mirage into the corridor.

The noble-mech hit the floor, slid and, rebounding off the wall. He lay crumpled in a heap, fear shaking his frame. Quickly, he scrambled to sit up. Lying prone, he couldn't protect himself.

Sideswipe leaned against the wall opposite of him, next to his enraged brother still framed in the doorway.

A mischievous smile lighting up the red mech features, and he turned his head towards Sunstreaker. He puckered his lips and blew a human kiss towards his yellow counterpart. "I love you too, bro."

Sunstreaker scowled in response. Wordlessly, they both turned and disappeared into their room.

Mirage braced himself with his hands and stood. He staggered the few histers to his room.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N:** I apologize for the amount of time in getting this update out. My only excuse is that I had been sick for over 6 weeks and when I started recovering, (what am I saying, I'm still coughing up nasties) RL caught up and forced me to address ignored issues… like Christmas shopping, unpaid bills, dirty house, starting back to school (getting my Master's OMG)… you name it. The end of the semester rolled around, then Christmas hit, the holiday invasion of family…etc…etc…etc. Anyways, enough whining.

I would like to hug everyone that has read/continued to read/commented on/added to faves this and my other stories. It is for ya'll that I keep up this insanity.

**To Animelover:** I know you commented on another chapter, but I need to thank you anyways. I am thrilled you like my stories, it makes the sweat, cursing and gallons of coffee worth it to bring this to life. (((HIUG)))). **To Jaguar69:** Ta da. I have updated. **To darkestangel9871:** Thank you muchly. My beta readers are some of the best (in my opinion) I would have never been able to hone my skills without their criticism. As for what's gonna happen next, only I know. Mwahahahahaha. **To Tia:** LOL you know how I think. Velocity's revenge will be long, drawn out and painful. **To Starfire201:** Soundwave is a cautious mech, he only takes chances when the benefit, greatly outweighs the risk. He is a wanted mech, but has been for a long time, he can handle himself well. I cannot say anything about the anon femme. It would give too much away. The new SecDef does have a lot to learn, she will make mistakes. Thank you for reading that last chapter took a lot out of me to write. **To Kiba:** Hey, Lady. Hound is a joy to write, I want to spend time on him and just can't. Grrrrrrrrr. So you think you know, who the femme is. LOL. Overdrive is a stupid, crude, dolt of a mech. To **Femme4prime:** Thank you. I have a feeling that the rest of this story will be really dark. **To phobe turner:** Thank you.


	37. Forward In Steps And Inches

Rating: M Language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

Important Note: This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF fic.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

A/N: This chapter takes place during the same period as the last one.

_**XxxX**_

Forward In Steps and Inches

_**XxxX**_

Velocity dangled from the mech's grip. She swung back and forth, a battered rag doll in the hands of an oversized bully. Helpless with her hands pinned behind her, she squirmed desperately. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," she whined.

The mech laughed. The deep roll of his chuckle thundered in her audios, and her soul shrank in her chest. She shuttered her optics and turned away from his malevolent gaze, cringing.

"Let's see if you break," he teased and flicked one of her audio horns.

She struggled against the cables that bound her. Gasping in pain, she strained to pull an arm free, the gears in her shoulder whined alarmingly. As she twisted an arm, the cables slipped further down her wrist, jamming in a joint at the base of her thumb.

The Decepticon slapped her on the side of her head. "No, no. You can't leave."

He lifted her higher and his optics scrutinized her form. A lascivious grin spread along his face, and his electrical field warmed, sliding slowly against hers.

His expression horrified her, filling her mind with images of him kneeling over her, forcing her to do his bidding. She panicked, and kicked at him. Her talons ripped the air between them.

Overdrive's smile wilted, and he glared at her. "The femme needs to learn her place." He lashed out with his free hand, and grabbed one of her audio horns. With a twist, he snapped the delicate sensor, and pitched onto the littered floor.

She screamed, agony lanced through her, and the squelch of feedback rang in her helm. She jerked and shook her head, trying to chase away the burning pain. Warm energon dripped onto her shoulder, and dribbled down her arm.

Her whole body stiffened. Tiny sparks of light flashed across her HUD, as the diagnostics report struggled to display data. She whimpered and looked pleadingly at her tormenter.

His hand shot towards her. Thick fingers wrapping around her head, his palm ground into her face, bending her neck as far back as it would go. He squeezed, slowly tightening his grip around her helm.

Her pump sputtered in her chest, and she screamed into his palm. The muffled sound echoed pathetically.

Overdrive squeezed, and static filled her HUD. Her jaw slipped out of alignment and the metal of her helm moaned under the pressure. Her circuits buzzed and crackled in her head. Seconds passed and the unrelenting pressure remained clamped around her.

She waited for him to crush her, splintering her processor and end this torture…

… However, he didn't. He just held her.

Slowly, his grip loosened, and his hand fell away.

Velocity stole a quick glance at Overdrive. The mech stared past her, his optic shutters narrowed and enmity rolled off him. He flicked his optics towards her, then beyond her again.

A sharp command tore through the buzz inside her head. She knew that voice, that hated, harsh growl. Her pump thrummed rapidly, and her tanks churned violently. She shivered as fear slid up her spinal assembly. She waited, her body hanging listlessly from his hand.

The air around her stilled, swollen with tension. The shadows inside the building sat dark and brooding, hiding from the shafts of light punching through the dilapidated roof above.

Overdrive slowly lowered her, but his grip did not lessen. He showed his dental plates in a mechanical sneer, and his electrical field sizzled angrily next to hers. For a long minute, he didn't release her, he held onto her, her feet almost dragging the ground.

"Drop her," hissed Barricade.

Overdrive sorted, and stamped a ped like an irritated bull. He lowered his head; his engine rumbled a threat.

Velocity remained limp in the big mech's hand. She cautiously turned her head to look at Barricade, and dread fell to the bottom of her tanks like a weight. Overdrive's mass towered over the shock trooper as the smaller mech bristled and growled.

She hung like this, for what seemed an eternity, caught between two mechanical monsters. The glowered at each other, huffing and snarling.

Three shots ripped pass her, barely missing her helm. The rounds punched into Overdrive's armor, spewing energon and metal fragments. Her mouth gaped in shock, and she blinked, to stunned to think.

Overdrive roared and staggered backwards. He pressed her against his chest, between him and Barricade, making her a living shield.

Her face scraped against his armor. The scent of the mech filled her olfactory sensors, and she reared back as far as she could. Twisting her head around, she could see that the shock trooper still had his weapon drawn and aimed.

Desperation filled her and she squirmed, twisting erratically, trying to free herself. Ignoring the pain, she thrashed about. If she had to break her own body, then so be it, but she did not want to be caught between the clashing Decepticons.

The world whipped sideways.

Open air rushed past her.

Spinning, she couldn't find up or down until she slammed into the hard concrete and bounced. A sheet metal wall crumpled under her, spilling her into a piercing light. She slammed against something hard; they both rocked from the impact.

She squinted against the blinding light, her optical filters unable to adjust fast enough. The dark shape of a vehicle silhouetted against the sun, towered over her.

Her pump sputtered in fear, terrified that this machine would awaken, transform into an enemy robot and torture her further. It didn't, it ceased its rocking and remained and inanimate machine.

Her filters slowly reduced the amount of light entering her one optic and the shadowy Pseudo-Cybertronian became an abandoned forklift, a machine of ordinary origin.

Dazed, the world continued to spin and the sun glared in her working optic. Somewhere in the back of her processor, she knew that she had to run, that this might be her chance for freedom, but the rest of her body didn't respond.

Gyros whirled and her processor choked on data. Her optic flickered on and off, like an old TV dying a slow death. She lay on her back, her aft pressed against the fork truck, her damaged leg draped over the front of it, the other one bent and pressed against the side of the vehicle. She craned her neck to look behind her; the inverted view of the world gave her vertigo. Among the flashes of black, she saw an expansive yard, surrounded by a high cinderblock wall covered in graffiti. The ground around her lay rusty metal drums and the square blocks of old automobile batteries, their cases cracked and shattered. Their toxic liquids spilt long ago and dried to a crystalline sheen on the ground.

The warmth of the sun beat against her armor, warming her. She relaxed and her shutters fluttered close. She stayed this way for a couple of seconds, letting her body rest, recover and reboot. The sharp hum of her damaged audio faded slightly.

Opening her optic shutters, she twisted her neck and upper body to glance towards the abandoned building. The hole she had crashed through remained dark and empty. Neither of the Decepticons followed her.

She examined the yard again. Interspersed among the dry dirt, patches of concrete anchored rusted and jagged fangs of metal, the remains of other structures long gone. A high cinderblock wall obscured all view of the surrounding landscape, but she could hear the soft rumble of distant cars. A dog barked.

She glanced back towards the other building; the Decepticons remained absent.

She twisted further to lie on her side; her armor plates creaked as they rubbed against each other. It took considerable effort and the pain almost forced her to give up, but she managed to untangle her functioning leg from the fork truck. She knew that her damaged leg couldn't support her weight. The cables piercing her armor, and jamming her gears kept her from transforming and simply driving away, but there had to be another option.

She dug her ped into the ground and pushed. Her armor racked along the concrete, gouging out shallow furrows, and her nonfunctioning leg slid off the fork truck and clattered uselessly to the ground. She buried her face in the dirt to muffle the scream. Her dental plates ground against the pain, the abuse and innumerable injuries created constant discomfort at best and endless agony at worst.

Velocity raised her head weakly, a grimace warping her facial plates into a snarl. She hooked her talons in the concrete and pushed again. Clearing the shadow of the fork truck, she laid in the open. Those meager feet taxed her system and drained her falling energy reserves. A simple task had turned into an almost impossible endeavor.

She paused, only for a couple of seconds to regain her determination. Her strength wouldn't last long, leaving her with her will to force her frame beyond its limits. Pain pulsed along her circuits, a reminder that she need to continue forward. The sun beat down on her; Sol's rays baked her. She cycled to cool her systems, but metal rattled against metal within her chest. The world went dark.

Her optic flickered on again, and she grumbled an oath in her native language. She questioned the intelligence of her decision to attempt an escape. Her audio burned, and nothing could describe the hateful agony that pulsed thorough out her leg. A pathetic sound grated from vocals strained screaming, the sound held all the misery in her body and soul.

Velocity dug her ped into the asphalt again, and lurched forward another half a body length. Craning her neck, she could see where a portion of the wall had crumbled and collapsed, exposing the world outside. Rows of flat roofs and the haze of car exhaust shimmered beyond. She scented the air, the sharp tang of hydrochloric acid filled her sensor, but she also detected the stench of offal, and the heady aroma of cooking.

Hope slowly warmed her soul as a half-formed plan took root in her processor. A flimsy dream of freedom stirred within her, and she pushed forward again. Pain ached throughout her body, but it only accentuated the insane idea that she could be free from her tormentors.

Her thoughts filled with seeing her mate and curling safely beside him. She thrust her body forward, lacking any plan other than just getting away. A city lay outside of the wall, and within cities lived noisy, nosey humans. It would only take one of two to see her and then, rescue would follow. In her mind, a fourteen foot, bright red robot, thrashing around would attract plenty of attention.

Her HUD warned her of her increased temperature, she didn't need it to. Heat spread along her circuits, making her sluggish and lethargic. It zapped her meager strength. She would soon overheat.

She groaned in frustration. So close to salvation, her mechanical body threatened to hold her back. She focused on gap in the wall and pulled her leg up to find purchase on the uneven ground and struggle onward.

A soft scraping caught her attention. A rhythmic clack-clack of metal on the concrete sent a surge of panic through her. Her ped slipped, wasting her attempt to move again.

A soft growl floated from her left.

"Fuck." Velocity twisted, looking for the source of sounds.

A mech crept towards her on four legs, it's head lowered, a singular optic blazing at her. Small and compact, the Cybertronian appeared panther-like. Its dull, black color cut a hole in the brilliance of the day. An undulating growl rumbled in its chest. It snarled at her, exposing wide mouth full jagged edges.

Velocity stared at it, shocked to see such a bestial mechanoid. She blinked, regaining her senses. Revulsion and disgust flooded her circuits, without reason, she hated the thing. Its movements bespoke of something unnatural.

"Go away," She hissed, kicking feebly at the Decepticon. Her talons missed by a wide margin, but her action forced the mech to scuttle backwards.

It snarled and snapped its jaws. Instead of leaving, it slowly slinked along the length of her frame, safely out of reach of her talons. Its actions and confidence unnerved her.

She instinctively knew that it was sizing her up, looking for a weak spot.

She lashed out again, not really trying to make contact, only keep it away.

The beast didn't react as she had hoped; it lingered just out of her reach. Its tail whipped the air. It made a low coughing noise, as if laughing at her.

The beast continued towards her head, carefully out of reach of her lethal claws. Its every step, closer to her, creeping nearer to her face. It gnashed its sharp dental plates at her.

She shifted, keeping the thing in sight. Craning her neck to watch it slink around her. It crouched, low and coiled, the end of its tail twitching. A twisted scrap-cat stood between her and possible freedom.

The air stilled, and an electrical charge built between them. She weighed her chances against the Decepticon, and cold reality chilled the fuel in her heated lines. The beast might be smaller, but its claws looked every bit as lethal as hers did. Its armor bristled with sharp edges, and anchored against it flanks, various forms of weaponry shimmered dully in the daylight.

Bound and barely functioning, she doubted it would take the creature much effort to dispatch her. The surge of hope that had spurred her forward wilted, draining the rest of her energy from her.

She continued to stare at it, but only saw its rugged frame and powerful hypercoils. This creature had been built to rend and kill, to take down much larger mechs.

The Decepticon crouched, digging its claws into the concrete. It snapped at her, jaws clamping shut inches from her facial plates.

She flinched.

The beast growled at her and snapped again, the message clear.

_Stay_.

Velocity had expended all the energy her abused body could afford to lose. Her head thumped against the concrete. She hated herself for giving up, but she couldn't fight this thing. She glanced at her only means of escape, her optics lingering on the gaping hole in the wall.

The Decepticon snapped at her again, the heat from its exhaust blowing across her.

She curled into a ball, closing the shutters over her optics. "I'll stop. I won't move."

She didn't move, and kept her head tucked against her chest, refusing to look at the black Cybertronian. Heat pulsed in her frame, keeping time with her pump. Warnings lit her shattered HUD, and exhaustion sapped her drive. Her broken frame had nothing else to offer.

Heavy steps vibrated through the ground, agitating her broken audio horn. She ground her dental plates, peeling her lips back in a grimace. A tiny whimper fluttered from her vocals. She reached out to Optimus and found a barrier. He had blocked their bond, leaving her to face her tormentors alone. A seed of cold resentment sprouted in her soul.

Hazarding a glance, she creaked open an optic shutter. A shadow blocked the sun, drenching her in his shadow. Twisting her head, she looked up. Barricade stood over her. The mech returned her gaze, his face neutral and placid, but his optics glowed with hateful malice. In gravelly English, he addressed the bestial Decepticon, "Tell your master that I request a meeting. I believe that keeping the femme functioning is more trouble that she is worth." His facial plates shifted into a cruel smile.

Velocity curled tighter, scared to incur the demon's wrath. A tremor ran the length of her frame. She looked away, her optic settling on the gap in the wall, a distant dream only yards away. Fear tingling up her spinal assembly.

She didn't react as a clawed hand encircled her ankle. She remained limp, even as he dragged her back to the building. Her armor sparking as it scraped along the concrete. The cattish Decepticon bounced alongside of her, like a kitten following a favorite toy. It finally gave up its game and bounded across the year, disappearing over the wall.

_**XxxX**_

He stiffened his back and strolled down the hall with a purposeful confidence he did not feel. His two closest friends guarded his flank, trusted and relied upon; he took faith in their unwillingness to leave his side. He knew that if he faltered, either, or both of them would be nearby to assume command. In them, he placed the future, the ones to carry on and stop the Decepticons.

Their ped-falls pounded against the hard floor, the cold, steady beat of a war drum. The cadence echoed around them, a warning to all that death and violence crept closer, slowly circling to claim its sacrifices.

He hated the staccato. He could not count the number of times he had walked down similar corridors, his War Council at his heels. The rhythm of destruction and slaughter, the haunting beat of sparks extinguished, and lives taken.

This, though, was not war, but it could easily lead down that dark and vile path. He headed towards a meeting, a face to face to explain his actions to a government that couldn't decide to be friend or foe to the Autobots.

The rhythm changed. A rapid downbeat altered the cadence. He glanced to his side, Prowl had moved beside him, the mech's face tight with worry, his steps quick and sure.

"Sir, I have severe reservations about this."

"Noted," he answered. He had already heard all of Prowl's "reservations" and agreed with most of them, but right now, he needed to move. He needed to fill his time and busy his processor. With every cycle that passed, his thoughts slid further into a dark abyss. This limbo of waiting tortured him more than the enemy's blades and shock sticks ever could. He needed a diversion.

"Sir, you need to recharge and take care of yourself. I can oversee the meeting." Prowl's field crackled with annoyance against his. He looked back at Ironhide, exasperation clearly etched on the older mech's features.

Of course, they wanted him rested and fueled. They knew that when the Decepticons finally executed Velocity, he would fall, and they wanted him in the best shape. They wanted him to survive a bond separation… again. He could not. He wished he had the courage to tell them that he looked forward to the peace of finally joining the Matrix. The vorns of war had worn him down.

The destruction…

The senseless waste of lives…

The horror after brutal horror…

If he thought that the Decepticons would be content with Cybertron, he would surrender himself and end the war, but they would not stop there. Cybertron would only be the beginning, and only he stood in their way. That was the reason he continued on, to try to save the rest of the universe.

Optimus continued walking. His steps rang out sure and solid, a steady beat, always forward, always onward. A rhythmic beat amid the chaos and death, he was always surrounded by chaos and death.

He would not falter. He would not cease until his spark faded completely, but exhaustion crept along his circuits, and pried its way into his spark. He regretted his promise to Ironhide.

Again, Prowl disrupted the tempo, four jarring thuds turned the war cadence into noise. His Second stepped in front of him. His peds anchored to the floor and legs splayed. The mech held up a hand, but not so bold as to touch him. "Optimus…"

He stopped and stare down at the SIC, deeply cycling his vents. He raised a hand and rubbed the span between his optics. "What?" Annoyance laced his energy field and crackled towards the tactician. If Prowl noticed, he did not acknowledge it.

The mech's facial plates tightened with tension. "Why do you insist upon doing this?"

Optimus nodded in understanding. "Because, my actions have brought us to this point. I made the decision to abandon the hearings before they started. I fear that I have jeopardized our tenuous relations with the humans, and placed Cosmos in a precarious situation instead of protecting him. The responsibility to explain my actions falls on no one's shoulders but my own."

Prowl crossed his arms over his chest, his brow arches pressed into a deep frown. "And how do you expect to explain your actions?"

The Prime cycled his vents again. He glanced over his shoulder to Ironhide, but the weapons specialist looked away. He wouldn't receive any help, so turned his attention back to the SIC. He stared Prowl in the optic. "I intend to tell the truth."

"Excuse me?" stammered Prowl.

Optimus shuttered his optics, and rubbed his face. Hazy pain buzzed in his processor, and he didn't want to argue. He spoke in a slow measured tone, "I am going to tell the Secretary of Defense why I responded the manner I did."

"You cannot be serious!"

He opened his shutters; Prowl's expression had morphed into outrage. His wide optic glared, and his mouth components twisted into a vicious snarl. His voice dropped to a whisper, "You are going to expose your bond to Velocity, to appease the humans?" his words sliced the air. "Prime, have you blown your processor? That will expose one of our natural weaknesses. Why not just give them the technology to replicate our weapons so that they can shoot us?"

"Prowl…" Ironhide warned in the low grumble of engine and humming weapons.

The tactician took a step back and held his hands in front of him. His frame shook as he cycled his vents. He glanced away, obviously composing himself.

The mech's words stung Optimus, the insinuation that he, the Prime would further endanger their lives and loved ones. He didn't feel anger towards his Second, only regret and guilt; it took a lot to shatter Prowl's tight control over his emotions. They all felt the strain, the unspoken realizations of the helplessness of this situation.

Optimus spoke softly, "I will not lie to the humans, and you will have to trust me right now." He couldn't say that he hadn't actually formed a plan yet.

Optimus Prime, heralded as one of Cybertron's greatest orators. His words inspired legions of followers to fight against insurmountable odds. His speeches stirred the humble and meek to pick up weapons, to stand against evil and oppression. Yet, he could not find the words to express his current emotions or thoughts.

Dread and sorrow corroded his spark. Guilt ate at him. Worry filled his thoughts. He choked on his failure. He could not keep his mate safe, and she would pay the ultimate price. How could he say that to those that placed him on a pedestal and made him an icon?

Right now, he needed to address one problem, and try to fix it. He needed to keep those left safe, and try to give them a home on this planet. He needed to ensure their future.

He stepped around the SIC and continued the few histers down the corridor. The faster he could adjourn this meeting the faster he could tackle other issues.

For a handful of steps, only his peds echoed in the still hallway, a single beat, slow and mournful. The others soon followed, their peds tapping out a lighter, faster rhythms. As he stepped into the conference room, he sighed in relief. His friends had not abandoned him.

A warm hum tingled along his sensors, a sensation so slight he almost didn't notice it. Prowl moved to stand beside him, and Optimus glanced at him. The second's facial plates drew together in a deep frown. _He detects it too_, the Prime thought to himself.

Cautiously, he stepped into the expansive room, quickly surveying the ledge that ran along the far width of the chamber. Captain Lennox and Master Sergeant Epps stood off to the side. They held their hands clasped behind their rigid backs, and their expressions reflected the hostility that glittered in their eyes. On the opposite side of the ledge waited several men and a woman. They gathered around a large table. She kept her back turned to him, obviously studying the image of Iacon hanging on the wall, but her respiration and heart rate gave her away. She knew he had entered and she feared him.

Optimus noted the distance between the two groups. He had learned, over the Earth years that humans were ultimately a territorial species, and they took offence to any perceived threat or invasion, especially from their own kind. He wondered what had transpired before his arrival.

The woman, Defense Secretary Hernandez he presumed, stiffened at the sound of his approach. Perhaps, she recognized the thrum of future battles in his steps.

The men sitting at the table stood, their hands slipped towards their coats, undoubtedly, where they carried firearms, but one bent and picked up a briefcase.

Velocity's voice whispered through his mind, "It's gonna be a pissing contest." The sharp stab of longing piercing him, and his spark reached out to his missing mate. He ground his dental plates together, and a tremor ran over his body.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Optimus?" asked Ironhide, his voice barely louder that the air around them.

::I am functioning, but I would like to make this as short as possible.::

His old friend nodded once, in understanding. His hand slid away.

The humans stared at him with open curiosity, and Epps leaned over to whisper something to Lennox. He didn't concern himself with the Autobots' human allies; they had proven their loyalty and earned his trust.

He tightened his hold on the bond, blocking his connection to Velocity, and focused on the task ahead.

_**XxxX**_

Heat rolled off her as the cooler shadows reduced her core temperature. She sucked in air and her chest rattled violently. Instead of cycling through her systems and reducing her core temp, the air uselessly whooshed out, between the seams of her armor. Her attempt to escape had further depleted her energy levels, and she fought the need to recharge. She didn't want to sleep with Barricade stalking the area.

Velocity lay on her back, staring at a sign that swung to and fro above her, creaking softly on its rust hinges. The breeze rustled the trash around her. Even the rats dared not disturb the sullen clam within the dim warehouse.

She watched the sign sway lazily, a small fleck of paint peeled loose and floated downward, catching the sun light on its descended. She read the sign again. The same sign that she had obsessed over when she first awoke in this… place, unable to remember what had happened to her. Battered and oxidized, the grimy letters still named this location.

Matales Y Derivados

Tijuana Mexico

She now knew where they kept her, yet it did her no good. She lacked a way to tell Optimus. Her internal Comms didn't work, the Decepticons had seen to that. They had millions of years to perfect abducting and holding prisoners, while she had less than a year to adjust to her metal body.

She didn't know why she even attempted to escape; she should have known that they wouldn't let her leave

Velocity shifted. Her mangled body throbbed continuously. The pain remained an unrelenting companion. She wondered if she would ever know the absence of discomfort. She could almost remember living without the pain, but it felt an eternity ago, not mere days.

The sign creaked again, the rhythm slowing, and she followed the motion with her optic.

She waited, knowing that only death filled her future, but the failure of her escape attempt along with the unrelenting pain and exhaustion numbed her. When the enemies left her alone, her mind shutdown, and that was fine with her. Eventually, they would humiliate and degrade her before they killed her. Then, terror would fill her and pain would blind her, but right now, the numbness was a blessing. She ignored the throb in her soul, the absence of her mate. He had blocked their bond and abandoned her. She didn't have the energy to care. He wasn't going to save her, no one was.

Velocity continued to watch the sign. The shafts of light cutting through the interior shadows shifted, followed the sun as it moved across the sky outside. Her optic shutters closed, and her shut down protocols started. She forced her optic shutters open, but they felt as heavy as lead ingots.

She tried to focus her thoughts, but her processor lagged, and exhaustion pulled at her.

An engine rumbled in the distance. It grew ever closer until the noise rattled the sheet metal building. Breaks squealed on the concrete. The muffled sounds of transformation gears shifting drifted through the gaps in the galvanized steel.

She blinked and sluggishly rolled onto her side. Her optic shutters half open as she watched the entryway. It didn't matter who arrived, they wouldn't be a friend and they wouldn't care about her.

Hardcore strolled through the docking bay; he shimmered angelically in the half-light. He looked around the area, his attention settling on the gaping hole in the side of one wall. He looked at her and winked, his facial plates shifted into a cruel smile. "You have been a bad little femme."

Velocity watched him. Too tired to care, she blinked slowly, her shutters wanted to stay closed.

She expected him to approach her, but he didn't. Instead, he turned away from her and walked around the empty warehouse, his head down, optics flicking back and forth. After a few seconds, her chirped happily. He stooped and flicked at the ever-present debris with his fingers. Reaching out, his hand curled around a lump of tattered rags.

He turned towards her. "Overdrive says you tried to escape." He stood and stalked towards her. "Perhaps you need an education."

The slight buzz in words worried her, and she watched him suspiciously. He lacked his normal, graceful movements; instead, he shook and jerked. Her optic shutters opened wide as realization hitting her. "You're overcharged," she croaked.

The Decepticon smiled wickedly. He raised his finger to his lip components. "Shhh. I meet with an old friend, and he was gracious enough to share some Autobot made energon. I must admit, what you have at your base is much better than this swill we subsist off of."

Velocity rolled onto her side, and struggled to sit up. "Bullshit!" she snarled. "The Autobots would shoot you on sight."

He stalked towards her, one hand cupping the wad of material, the other poking through it, shifting it around. As he looked at it, delight brightened his optics.

Hardcore stopped, and squatted in front of her. He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling, helping her sit up. His laugh echoed around the cavernous space. "I have friends. Friends that would do anything for me. Friends that help me."

Letting go of her, he tugged and pulled at the refuse he held.

She watched him closely, unconcerned with what the trash in his hand. As he held something pinched between his fingers and studied it, she studied his face, searching for any hint at his intentions.

Anticipation and fear swirled within her. Overcharged and unpredictable, this mech scared her.

He narrowed his optics to a squint, a huge smile still plastered across his features. "Did you know a… Anthony Melby?" He stared at her. "We had to teach him a lesson too."

Hardcore flicked his hand and tossed the tattered lump at her. It landed with a meaty splat against her chest. The stench of feted meat and death assaulted her olfactory sensors as the mass slid along her torso and landed in her lap.

She looked down at it. Brown and caked with dirt, the sharp ends of a shattered bone stood out, shockingly white among the filth.

Her mind tried to protect her, but she continued to stare at the pile of flesh, bone and rags. It took her several seconds to make out the line of a slender torso and part of an arm. A face, stripped of its flesh, gazed sightlessly at her, the jaw loose, ivory teeth exposed in an endless scream.

Her gaze snapped back to Hardcore. He sat on his haunches, his optic shutters half open. A tiny piece of plastic twirled on a thin cord, suspended from the Decepticon's fingers.

_**XxxX**_

An unwelcome buzz brushed softly against his sensors. The charge in the air didn't match the amperage he associated with the output of the average communications devices humans typically carried.

A tingle spread from his matrix core through his chest and across his shoulders. He headed the warning, and forced the mire of his emotions back. Something was amiss here, and he needed to step cautiously.

The whir of cannons spinning in their housing attested to Ironhide's irritation.

::I feel it too,:: Optimus cautioned his friend.

::The humans are up to something,:: the weapons specialist snarled over their comm. link.

Prime grunted softly in agreement. He considered this bunker his haven. He and his mechs had carved this place out of the crust of this world and happily shared it with the peoples of this planet. He knew this base, every nuance and detail carved into his memory banks. His sensors told him when the air circulation systems kicked on, which rooms were in use just by the current load coursing through the wiring. He was the Prime and this, his domain; the tiniest details did not escape him. Nothing new would go undetected for very long.

Slowly, Optimus strolled across the room; a silent tension surrounded the humans. All eyes, except for the Secretary's, followed his progress. She remained turned, ignoring him and his council. He didn't like the tenses, alert stares of the federal agents or the way that they glanced nervously at each other. Fear could cause the humans to react with violence and primal instinct instead of reason.

The tingle of a scan brushed him. He glanced over his shoulder, Prowl's optic ridges pressed together into a deep frown. ::Prime.:: Prowl's voice cut urgently through the comms.

::What is it?:: The Prime kept his tone calm, not really wanting to hear his second's findings.

::My readings suggest that the Secret Service agents have a device capable of producing an electromagnetic pulse.::

Optimus's engine rumbled an involuntary threat. He addressed Prowl, ::Are you certain?::

::Yes, sir. However, I cannot determine if the pulse would be strong enough to harm us. The size of the device suggests not, but humans are shockingly resourceful.::

The Prime glared at the humans, his ire radiated into his energy field. He stalked towards the balcony. The audacity of the new Secretary of Defense infuriated him. Hot air blew from his vents as he cycled.

He needed to compose himself. He hated the way that his emotions oscillated wildly. Amped up and with systems running wide-open, small things that normally didn't bother him, could insight his rage. He blocked his connection to his missing mate, but that did little good. He couldn't discern his emotions from hers and she still subtly affected him.

He cycled again, locking an iron-willed control on his temper. His fury wouldn't help. He had to remain rational to or this room could become a battlefield

He made the last few steps towards the balcony, the war drum of his ped steps echoing in the cavernous area. He stopped, only a small distance separated him from the balcony, he had reached the frontline.

"Secretary Hernandez, I am…"

The woman turned to face him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice resonated firmly, but held an almost imperceptible warble. "I know who you are and I know who you have brought with you. Can we skip the pleasantries and just address the issues at hand?" She walked towards the long table that separated them.

Optimus crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her pose and stared down at her. His audios picked up the rapid pounding of her heart. She feared him.

Pity weighted his spark, sinking his anger. Nonetheless, the Secretary's actions spoke more of hostility than peaceful intentions. He could not forget that.

He addressed the woman. "Very well, what questions do you have?"

She met him, eye to optic, her expression severe and hard. "The President and all of Congress demand to know why you turned your convoy around, effectively ignoring the summonsing to Washington."

Optimus leaned forward slightly, his deep voice caring the weight of his words. "I turned my convoy around because the Decepticons attack Velocity and Agent Simmons." The federal agents exchanged looks with each other, their expressions knotting into frowns. Prime stole a glance at the soldiers standing along the side of the wall. Lennox and Epps stood statuesque and unmoving, but they intently watched, paying close attention to the proceedings.

He waited for Secretary Hernandez to respond.

The woman pursed her lips and looked down. She reached towards file lying benignly on the long table. Her small hand flipped open the cover.

From where he stood, Optimus saw the image of a partially collapsed structure, the ceiling hung down and large slabs of concrete littering the area. The bodies of men and women clad in military fatigues lay scattered about, their blood dark against the white floor.

Secretary Hernandez unnecessarily held it up so that he could see it.

He blinked and focused on her face instead.

"You rush to protect one of your own, but you don't think that the death of one hundred and thirty people is worthy of your attention," the cold anger of her voice could have frozen a star.

The Prime straightened, placing some distance between himself and the woman. "Madam Secretary, I regret the loss of any sentient life, but I also know that Cosmos acted out of fear. He would have never intentionally injured those people. To use a human equivalent, he panicked. He emerged from a long stasis to find an unknown species carving him apart. I ask, how would a human react in a similar situation."

Secretary Hernandez slapped the photo back into the file. "A human cannot tear apart a multistory complex."

"This is true. I know that Cybertronians are huge by human standards, but there are races larger than we are. In deep space lurk beings bigger than planets. So terrifying are they, that even Megatron dared not disturb them. To every race there are ones greater and ones smaller, but what matters are the similarities that reside in our sparks and your souls."

She waved a hand at him. "Irrelevant, your presence here still costs humans their lives. Every time you battle the Decepticons, humanity pays the price, people are injured, lives are lost and the damage is tallied in the millions of dollars." She pointed where Lennox and Epps stood. "Our brave service men and woman lose their lives fighting a war that they shouldn't be involved in."

"I'd rather die fightin' for my planet than get blown up by some jihadist using a cell phone and a cup of gasoline," Epps called from where he stood "You have no clue what we are up against…"

"Sergeant, stand down." Optimus ordered softly, he didn't want Sergeant Epps to receive a reprimand.

Epps looked at him and nodded. The man took his place next to Captain Lennox, but anger still burned in his dark eyes.

Madam Hernandez glared at the Sergeant. She turned back to face Optimus, her brown eyes narrowed to slits and her lips had tightened to a thin line. Her expression turned mean and hard. "Are we supposed to pay the price for our war?" her words seethed open hostility.

Guilt sank his spark deeper into the dark recesses. Prime reached out and laid a hand on the balcony railing, an anchor to keep him stable. He sighed. "I wish I could unwind the fates of our worlds and erase the past so that Earth can be ignorant to the ways of the Decepticons, but I cannot. Know this, I have chosen to stay here and protect your world from those who have forgotten what it means to be Cybertronian."

"'Cons can't even be considered Cybertronian anymore." Ironhide grunted with disgust.

Optimus turned towards his friend, and shook his head to the negative. Ironhide held strong opinions could sometimes shock those not accustomed to him.

The woman slapped her palms on the surface of the table. She hunched over her arms; open aggression marked her face. "So you just want us to ignore the fact that people die while you and your…mechs go gallivanting around the country? You think that we should be understanding and accepting of this. You think that we should applaud you and your Autobots for coming here and dragging your war with you."

He sighed and his shoulders slumped. The last few days had taken their toll on him. His ramped up systems demanded proper recharge and fuel, he had ignored those needs, and his patients ran short. In truth, he didn't want to face this woman; he just wanted to be left alone. If it were not for Ironhide continuously reminding him of his duties as Prime, he would have locked himself in his quarters and waited for the blessed end to all of this.

"No." He leveled the full weight of a Prime's scrutiny upon the Secretary. "I am asking humanity to realize that the Decepticons discovered this world long before we did. We followed Megatron and the Allspark here. By shear accident, our worlds collided, and that cannot be changed. We can only move forward. I also ask that your government and citizens understand that when the Decepticons attack, I _will_ counter to stop them. I and my mechs will do all that we can to spare human lives, it is near impossible when the enemy purposefully targets them."

"Yes, I knowingly turned my convoy around, but I did so to try and aid Velocity and Special Agent Simmons. I felt that saving their lives was the more pressing need. Now, Agent Simmons lies recovering in a hospital, and one of our own is missing. We know that she is in enemy hands, and their prisoner." He ground his dental plates together in frustration. At the thought of the Decepticon having his bonded, cold wrath crept through his systems. He let it seep into his energy field. Behind him, Prowl and Ironhide shifted their footing, the soft thumps and hum of gears floated to his audios.

Fury and disgust tainted his voice. "Madam Secretary, Cybertronian forms are more durable than fragile human bodies, allowing us to endure harsh extremes and exist in the void of space. This also means that our metal frames can suffer tortures and brutality that you cannot imagine. Some of our kind have survived for centuries in excruciating agony after being mutilated and ripped apart, only their processors and cores intact."

Secretary Hernandez's eyes widened and her face lost some of its bronze color.

He had hit a weak spot. Optimus continued, unrelenting. The humans had to understand. "Yes, we feel pain, both of frame and spark. And like humans, we can suffer from intimate humiliation and degradation.

"The Decepticons have her, and Madam, she is special to us. The femmebots were some of the first to pick up weapons and stand against Megatron. They fought with cunning and bravery unrivaled in the best mechs. They served as our Field Generals and Strategists. They gave everything they had to stop Megatron and in the end, he wiped them off the face of Cybertron. Velocity is the last, and I owe it to her to try and rescue her." Prime glanced towards Ironhide; the old mech turned away, but not before Optimus caught the dim glow of personal pain in his optics. He turned back to the woman; she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her gaze downward.

She tipped her head up, her expression suspicious. "That is a very touching story, but the reality of the matter is that a witness saw her throw Agent Simmons. Pick him up and throw him. Explain that."

Prime ground his dental plates together in frustration. He stifled the accusations he wanted to hurtle at the Secretary. "She was outnumbered and surrounded by a superior force…"

"And that gives her the right to intentionally attack a human?"

His temper boiled over into his words, "Had she attacked Agent Simmons, he wouldn't be laying in a hospital, recovering from his wounds!"

A firm hand clamped onto his shoulder, defusing some of his ire. "Forget it Optimus, the humans only will see only what they want to see, the truth be damned."

He didn't look at Ironhide, the disgust in the mechs words were enough.

Prowl stepped forward, placing himself at Prime's side as an equal. "Madam Hernandez, May I point out that none of us really knows what occurred during the attack and that there are still large pieces of the event missing, pieces that only Agent Simmons and Velocity can fill in. I think it would be prudent to withhold accusations until Simmons awakens and can be debriefed. I would hate for a misunderstanding to turn into a hostile situation between our races."

Optimus wondered if the woman heard the snide tone in Prowl's voice as she furrowed her brow and blinked in confusion.

He understood his Second's insinuations, and addressed the secretary. "My hope has always been that earth and Cybertron can form an alliance, and work together to secure both of our futures, but I fear that your government does not wish such an alliance. You have accused us of violence, yet you expect us to battle on your behalf. We ask to search out the Decepticons and take the offensive and you deny that there is a credible threat. You are trying to take away our right to defend ourselves. You demanded our weapons technology, not even considering that our energy technology would serve you better. Had I not already meet members of your race that proved themselves, compassionate, brave and selfless I would think that your leaders' actions exemplified all humans.

"Instead, I choose to see the goodness in Humanity. I choose to hope for an amiable future between our two races. And I choose to believe that you brought a weapon into our midst out of fear and not as a declaration of war."

Secretary Hernandez's eyes opened wide and heat colored her cheeks. Her head snapped towards the collection of agents, then back to face him. "What are you talking about?" her voice warbled with uncertainty.

His hand tightened around the railing, and his engine rumbled. "There is an electromagnetic pulse device contained within that briefcase." He nodded towards the briefcase in question. "The device is charged and ready to detonate. Since humans are relatively unaffected by EMPs it is easy to assume that the weapon would be meant for Cybertronians.

"As I have said, I have no intentions to go to war against humanity, but I will defend myself and my mechs, as I expect the people of earth to defend their planet. Just make sure that you know who your enemies truly are."

The woman sneered at him, but she dropped her gaze. "Turn it off," she ordered.

The agents glanced at each other with uncertainty.

"I said 'turn it off'!"

One of the men sat the dark leather briefcase on the table and dialed the coded latches. The lid popped open. From where he stood, Optimus could see the device carefully assembled and packed in shock absorbent foam. The man's hand floated over it and hesitated before ripping several wires loose from the power pack.

Instantly, the buzzing along his circuits ceased. He sent his visual observations of the device to Wheeljack, for analysis. He wanted to know how close the humans were to creating a concealable device that could harm a Cybertronian.

The Secretary of Defense would not look at him.

"Madam Secretary, the Autobots only want peace, and we only battle to protect that peace. I wish I could promise that no human would ever be harmed, but I cannot. However, if you doubt my words, let me actions speak for me.

"Once I left Bumblebee in the hands of humans that I knew would torture and dismantle him, instead of risking human lives. If, by some chance, human lives stand between us and Velocity, I will have to leave her to her fate." His vocals glitched as he spoke and he shuttered his optics against the despair in his spark.

"You need to answer for the actions of your mechs."

"I need to locate Velocity. I fear that her abduction is an indication of a Decepticon plot."

"You are required to address the congressional hearing!" The secretary of defense shoved the file sitting innocently on the table. It slid across the polished surface, and off the other side. "Are you dense?"

Optimus let go of the railing, afraid that he might damage the barrier. "I know very well what I am doing, and I ask for understanding to resolve a serious situation. You on the other hand, intentionally brought device among us that could have been harmful, what is your excuse?"

The Secretary snarled at him. He didn't enjoy backing the Secretary into a corner, knowing that she could counter, and escalate the situation, but he bet everything that the United States didn't want an all-out war with Cybertron. This kind of bearing busting negotiation sickened him, and it bothered him that over the vorns he had become better and better at it.

He softened his voice, "Allow us a chance to try and save Velocity, then I shall willingly stand before Congress and answer their questions. Madam, I truly believe that the Decepticons are plotting something, their actions in the last few weeks speak loudly that there is a plan hatching. Our sources say that Starscream has returned to Cybertron, but that Soundwave is most likely on Earth and he is a much more dangerous foe.

"Please, allow us to protect Earth and the citizens of it. Any information we discover, we will pass to you."

The Secretary of Defense would not look at him, she kept her gaze downcast and the muscles in her jaw twitched. "How do you know that she is still alive?"

His voice dropped to almost a whisper, "I know, I will always know. Allow me a chance to locate her."

_**XxxX**_

A/N: The abandoned Metales y Derivados recycling center actually exists in Tijuana. An automobile battery-recycling center has dumped over 42,000 tons of lead, arsenic, sulphuric acid, and other hazard chemicals on its site. Google it for the full history. Now, I have taken extensive liberties with the descriptions and appearance of the building and surrounding area, to suit the needs of the story. ;)

**To Everyone that favs and follows the story, thank you**. **To Jaguar69:** Thank you and here is more. **To Zenith020388:** Wow! Thank you and ((((HUGS))) I don't know what to say other than your review made me smile and get my butt in gear to finish this chapter. I have left you a PM with an in-depth response. Again, thank you. **To Fillykat**: Hey, I know you! *Loves back* **To Kiba:** LOL Sunny is not a mech to tamper with ^^ and Mirage… well, he has isues. **To Animelover1993:** Thank you bunches. I'm not going to get into the psychoses of all the different mechs, but let's just say that war scars, and they are all a little nuts around here ;) **To femme4prime:** Thank you. This is going to continue being a dark and twisted fic. Just because the Autobots all fight for the same cause doesn't mean that they are nice or get along. **To Phoebe Turner:** Thank you

Yes, I continue poking at this fic, but school is starting to get in the way. LOL. Master's Degrees are hard *whiny bird* I promise to keep writing, but the updates will be few and far between. Now, I am off to read 4 books, write 2 reports and work on 2 major projects.


	38. Limbo

**Rating: **M Language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, **torture**, **gore**. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

**Important Note: **This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM compliant.

**Disclaimer: **The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**XxxX**_

_**Limbo**_

_**XxxX**_

Velocity stared at the rotting mass wadded in her lap. Her mouth hung open in shock and her processor struggled to understand. She blinked and flicked her gaze between Hardcore and the bit of plastic dangling from his fingers. She easily recognized the tiny piece of plastic, one of the ID badges from the base. It twirled in a lazy circle, catching the light as it spun. One side showed the wide-eyed smiling face of Tony Melby, and the other his clearance level and other bits of irrelevant information.

Stunned, it took several second for her thoughts to untangle and reality to cash down upon her.

She looked down at the desiccated lump, hardly recognizable as once being human. Her voice glitched, "T… Tony?"

Hardcore clicked in disgust and shook his head. "Tony? You have a pet name for the human?" his tone dripped with condescension.

Her dental plates ground against the rising emotions. "Everyone called him that," she whispered. She hated that she told the Decepticon that much. He didn't need to know about Tony. He didn't need to learn about the young man's innocent arrogance and over-confidence. Hardcore didn't need to know about Tony's genius, or his exuberance for life. He didn't need to know anything about Tony, and she wanted to protect what remained of the man, and the few memories she had of him.

She squeezed her optic shutters tight as a torrent of unbridled emotions slammed into her. Guilt, anger, revulsion, grief and horror forged into a blade, and pierced her soul. She looked down at the cold, lifeless flesh pressed against her armor. In her mind, she saw Tony's lopsided grin and his shock of unruly red-blond hair. Now, only slimy meat remained of the man, his body left to feed the greedy rats of this hellhole.

The world spun around her, and she thought about the young man's last minutes alive…

Hard metal pressed against soft, pale flesh…

Bright blood dripping off slick armor…

Screams…

Sobs…

The crack of bone…

She remembered Tony's laughter, a snorting cackle that made her audios ache. Now, nothing remained of him. That magic, that spark of life, extinguished, leaving nothing but a rotted body. The Decepticons had wasted a promising life. They had destroyed a bright future and all the potential brilliance his mind contained. Tony had died scared and alone. Did he think of his family in his last moments? Did he still believe in the Autobots until the end, or had he given up any hope of rescue?

Her thoughts tormented her. They bit mercilessly at her, slashing and tearing apart her resolve. Within her soul something unseen and intangible broke, she bled from an invisible wound. Realization hit her, nothing she did or said mattered. The Decepticons would shred her and leave her remains to rust. They wouldn't stop with just her. They would target her friends. They would continue until they butchered everyone she cared for, and decimate her world.

In desperation to hold together, her wounded soul latched onto the only thing it could, Optimus. His presence flooded the bond; a cold anger filled her. He couldn't rescue her, he couldn't save her.

Her own hate clawed through Optimus's frigid, ineffectual wrath. He could do anything for her.

A bitter, cruel hate spread through her. An unstable and irrational hate engulfed her. She wanted someone to pay for the death, the pin, the misery. She wanted a target to unleash upon. She wanted someone to hurt, and didn't care who.

She looked at Hardcore, the mech's beautiful silver face smiled at her. She hated him, and she hated him to the very depths of her soul. Heat rose within her, the flame of vengeance licked at her. She focused onto him, forgetting her mate.

Her facial plates shifted, twisting into a grief filled snarl. "You didn't have to kill him," she whispered.

"And what were we supposed to do with him? We don't have any place to keep pets."

"He wasn't a pet," she snapped vehemently. She glared at the silver mech. "He was a friend." her voice hitched. She narrowed her optics to dangerous slits, quietly seething, imagining a slow, torturous death for the Decepticon.

Hardcore rocked back on his haunches, and cocked his head to the side. "Oh, I doubt that. Tell me one thing about him that isn't found on the data chip in this." He twirled the ID badge between his fingers.

Velocity opened her mouth to respond, and then snapped it shut with an audible clank. She just stared at him, her mouth components pressed tightly together.

"You don't know anything about this human you mourn." The Decepticon laughed riotously.

Guilt dampened the hate inside of her. She realized that she didn't know anything about Tony. She had been the one to drag him into the world of alien robots and then abandoned him. She knew, first hand, how awe inspiring and difficult it was for an organic to live under the peds of the Cybertronians. She, more than anyone, should have taken him under her proverbial wing and taught him the dangers of co-existing with the Autobots. She should have been there for him. She had failed him. Her frame sagged under the weight of regret.

"You will pay," she whispered, staring at the feted flesh in her lap.

Hardcore leaned forward, his optic shutters blinked rapidly. "What did you say?"

Velocity didn't move as Hardcore's overcharged electrical field flickered against hers. She cut her optics upwards to glare at the Decepticon. "I said that you will pay for killing him." She continued to stare unflinchingly at her advisory.

The mech laughed, his optics glittered with drunken amusement. "Doubtful." He reached out and snatched Tony's body from her lap, tossing it aside.

Velocity lunged, trying to catch the mass of flesh before it splattered dully against the pavement, but her arms remained bound uselessly behind her. She toppled over, slamming her shoulder and helm against the hard floor. The numerous injuries her body had sustained rang out in a symphony of pain. The bindings around her leg rubbed against gears and sensors. The patch covering the hole in her mechanics stabbed her. An inarticulate moan slipped from her vocals.

Hardcore's hand onto shot out and clamped onto her upper arm. He yanked her into a sitting position. The rapid shift rattled her possessor and sent her gyros spinning.

Letting go of her arm, Hardcore grabbed her chin, fingers digging into her cheek plates. He lurched forward, his knees splintering the concrete on either side of her. He knelt only a few feet from her, his electrical field washed over hers. He gently tilted her head, forcing to look up at him. "I doubt you are in any position to make threats."

He rolled the cord attached to the I.D. card between his fingers. It spun, becoming a hypnotic blur. His optics narrowed. He opened his hand, letting cording slip from his hand. It landed among the litter and trash, shining white against the stagnant squalor of this place.

His other arm wrapped around her and drew her to him until he held her tightly. He whispered in her audio, "Actually, you should be desperate to appease me."

Velocity snarled. She slammed her helm forward, wanting to head-butt that beautiful face.

Hardcore tightened his grip on her jaw tightened arresting her movements. "No, no. I have learned your little tricks, and won't fall for that again." He smiled seductively.

She struggled against him, but his arm locked tighter around her. He let go of her face and wrapped his other arm around her, pinning her to his chest. A finger played along her interface access, a metal claw scraped at the covering.

She could smell him, the distinctive scent of a Cybertronian, metal, oils, ozone, and something warm and alive. She wanted to jab her claws into his chest and rip out his pulsing spark.

He purred deep within his chest. "You hate it when I touch you, don't you?"

She continued to squirm, but she couldn't break his hold around her. "Let me go," she growled. She didn't want him to touch her. She didn't want him near her in his current state. Overcharged and uninhibited, the mech became even more dangerous. A serious threat if he lost control.

A wicked chucked charged the air around them. "As I have stated before, I wouldn't lower myself to 'face with you…" He slid a sharp claw along her arm, carving a line in her armor. "… but I am sure there are plenty of Autobots that would."

He grabbed her by her helm, tipping her head back until she looked up at him. His optics glowed softly, and he slowly blinked. His words, though softly spoken, held the chill of violence. "So tell me hub, how many more of your kind hide in the Autobot ranks?"

Velocity ceased her struggles. Confusion furrowed her brows together, and cleaved through her stewing emotions. "W- What?" she stammered.

Hardcore pressed her tighter, her armor groaning against the pressure. He rubbed her remaining audio horn with his lip components. "You and I have something in common," he whispered softly.

She shivered, in response to the sensation.

His hand pushed, forcing her to lay her head on his shoulder. His electrical field teased and flittered against hers. He swayed gently, moving to a melody only he heard.

His arm crushed her, and her knees ached from carrying her weight for so long. Molded against him, she felt the pounding of his pump. She struggled against her bindings as he held her, seemingly indifferent to her actions.

Hardcore purred. "You can struggle all that you want, but I have you, and I'm not going to let you get away. You see femme, I don't have long to get what I need from you. Soundwave will implement whatever plan he is constructing and I doubt there will be much left of you afterwards." His hand rubbed her helm with soft almost tender strokes. "It is a pity; you and I could have so much fun together."

Velocity refused to respond to him, but the affection in his touches chilled her burning rage. She hadn't thought that the Decepticons might use her against the Autobots. Her soul twisted in cold fear, not for herself, but for Optimus.

Hardcore continued to pet her, his words lazily spoken, "I think you need to tell me your secret."

She stiffened, but kept her vocals muted. She turned her head to the side, desperately searching for a way out.

"Oh come now. You didn't think that no one would figure it out… Especially, now that you are in our control. Some of the others think that you are one of the human's Allspark experiments, but I know the truth."

Her pump skipped a beat, and the world around her froze.

_Impossible! _

_He couldn't know._

Gripping her by the shoulder, he pulled her away from him. He stared into her optics, searching, seeking. "I know you are young. You don't bear the scars of centuries of life. You lack the haunted, bitterness of one who has witnessed close friends die in battle. Everything about you reminds me of one who hasn't lived a full vorn. You are so young, aren't you?" He smiled softly. "I doubt that you were sparked on Cybertron, but it is possible. More likely, you were created off world." His words paused as he cycled his vents. "Am I right?"

Her pump pounded faster within her chest, and reality dropped away. Only she and Hardcore existed, bound together in a sensuous embrace. Shock shifted her features, wide-opticed and opened mouth. Velocity blinked at the mech, if he his hands hadn't clamped, vice-like, onto her arms, she would have collapsed. "I don't know what you are talking about," she stammered.

"Of course you do. You probably know a whole lot of things."

She shook her head. "I don't know what you are talking about. I don't know anything."

He clicked in mild annoyance. "Let's start simply. Who is your creator?" he asked, his voice saccharine sweet, but his optics narrowed to cold slits.

Her frame trembled, afraid of what he alluded to. She glanced to where Tony's body lay, crumpled and broken. Her mind raced, trying form lies to appease the Decepticon. "I… don't know who my creator is." She stared at him wide-eyed, unable to hide her uncertainty.

He let go of her arm and caressed her helm affectionately. "Of course you know who your creator is. You aren't old enough to have purged those files yet. So, just tell me who your progenerator is."

"I don't have one." She opened her optic shutters wide, hoping that he could see her honesty, and drop the topic.

Hardcore slowly smiled at her. "Don't try and hide the truth. All you have to do is name your progenerators."

"Why?"

"Why?" He chuckled. "Why? I'll tell you why. On Cybertron, I have seen the femmes slinking in the shadows of Iacon, stealing energon from the very mechs that deny their existence. They are almost impossible to spot, hiding and covering their tails, but they are there. I am certain that several incursion teams exist and that they move freely within Decepticon territories. My… superiors dismiss me. They remind me that various, intercepted, Autobot transmissions have confirmed the death of every femme.

"But I have seen your sisters. I have followed them though the catacombs under Iacon until I lost them in the maze. I know that the femmes still exist. I know that you are one of their decedents." He coyly cocked his head to the side. "Velocity, only femmes can produce femmes. Your young, fresh existence proves that the femmes move within the Autobot ranks, striking against Decepticons. I want you to tell me everything you know about the femmes."

He grabbed her remaining horn, and pulled her head to the side. "You are going to do that for me. This kind of information would do wonders for my current status. With irrefutable evidence that the femmes exist and in viable numbers, I can guarantee a couple of promotions. I don't want much, just a comfortable life, and you can help me achieve that again."

The gars in her neck squealed for the strain. She hissed. "I don't know anything. I don't know any other femmes."

The smile on the mech's face faded, and he let her go.

Velocity collapsed, her injured leg unable to support her weight. She couldn't upright herself, and lay helplessly among the litter. She twisted to keep the Decepticon in sight.

Hardcore jumped to his peds. He towered over her, glaring down at her. The mech stepped back, away from her. A rod dropped from his wrist and into his hand, and with a flick, it lengthened. Electricity arched wickedly from the forked end. He smiled joyfully. "I was hoping that you would force me to do this."

Velocity screamed as he shoved the forked points into a gap in her armor. The electrical current fried its way through her circuitry.

The agony disappeared, leaving her writhing in the echoes of pain.

"Now that you understand, you _will_ answer my questions." He jabbed the shock-stick into her neck.

_**XxxX**_

Sam didn't like the austere grey walls and artificial lighting of the corridors he paced. Here, no one had used Sharpies to deface the plain surfaces with arrows, directions, warnings, drawings or alien glyphs. Here tight, neat plaques announced room numbers and functions.

He nodded at a passing soldier, noticing how the florescent lights cast a sickly pallor on the man's deeply tanned skin. He missed the full spectrum lighting of Alpha Base that fluctuated with the natural cycle of light and dark. Thinking about it, he decided that Ratchet had been the one to initiate variable lights. He could almost hear the medic's surly voice as he argued his point, "But Optimus they are organics and their bodies respond to the cycle of light and dark."

Sam smirked, thinking about an imaginary discussion.

He continued his aimless pacing, one hand holding Styrofoam cup, the dregs of congealed coffee, his other hand curled in the pocket of his slacks. He wanted to find 'Bee, to sit next to his friend and feel the Autobot's quiet strength. He missed his friend's presence. Bumblebee had what Sam thought he lacked, the ability to handle any situation. The yellow mech had become his friend, bodyguard, and hero. Sam wanted 'Bee with him, a talisman to keep his tiny family safe. Sadly, these narrows halls and low ceilings, denied access to anything larger than a human, leaving Bumblebee topside.

He wanted to be back at Alpha Base, to be back home. He wanted to hear the heavy thumps of Autobot peds echoing along the halls, he wanted to hear laughter, both human and mechanical. He wanted to be back among his friends, back where he functioned as a part of things, and not an outsider.

He accepted his thoughts as selfish and juvenile, but that was how he felt. He understood that safety concerns had forced the Autobots to move he and Mikaela here. This knowledge did little to elevate the fact that he would rather be home.

He finished the stale coffee, wincing as the cold, bitter liquid hit the back of his throat. The oily sludge washed down the sugary Red Zinger that had preceded it by almost an hour. What a pathetic example of human survival skills: sugar, starch, caffeine, and no food value. He could imagine his distant hunter-gather ancestors, shaking their shaggy, bug infested heads at him in disgust.

Sam rubbed his face with a hand, and decided that channeling Stone Age spirits would only land him in the nut house.

As he passed a trashcan, he threw his paper cup at it and missed. The little container rolled behind the larger one and disappeared. Too tired to care, he left it where it lay.

With weary feet, he trudged back to the room assigned to Mikaela.

He stood outside the door, and pressed his weight against the cool metal. Slowly, he turned the knob, and carefully pushed the door open. A comforting darkness awaited him; he slipped into their temporary quarters and gently closed the door. He gave himself a proverbial pat on the back for conquering the cantankerous and squeaky door.

He walked over and checked on his wife. Worrying about her and their unborn son kept his mind and feet restless. The savior of the human race, the killer of Megatron, and he was absolutely scared shitless for his family.

Mikaela lay on her side, asleep in a mass of pillows to cushion her swollen belly.

Sam stealthily moved around the bed and glanced at one of the half dozen machines monitoring mom and baby. A terse doctor had explained the functions of all the contraptions, but their names and functions all ran together into a convoluted mass of medical speak. He picked up a strip of paper that reminded him of a seismograph, all spikes and lines. He couldn't remember the name of the machine, but it measured Mikaela's contractions. During his absence, it looked like she only had some small ones. He knew monitoring his wife wasn't his job, a nurse came by a regular intervals, but he hated just waiting like a lump in the corner.

A Witwickies never waited like lumps in the corner.

Sam dropped the strip of paper, acknowledging defeat. Maybe if he had been able to stay in college _and _went into pre-med to become a doctor of obstetrics and gynecology, he might now how to help his wife.

He smiled seductively at the thought of becoming an OBGYN, working _intimately_ with women all day. A mischievous smile spread along his lips at the erotic fantasies half-formed in his head.

Then he remembered the summer he worked at the pizzeria and how he much despised pizza afterward. That thought turned his smile slightly downward.

He leaded over the hospital bed and whispered into his wife's belly. "Ok, little guy. You aren't done yet, so just stay in there, and stop trying to come out. I promise that you will have plenty of time to see some really bitchin' stuff."

Mikaela's hand ruffled his hair.

Sam looked at his wife, her eyes remained shut, but a soft, sleepy smile curled her lips. He hadn't meant to wake his wife. He took her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the back of it. "Go back to sleep. You need to rest."

Mikaela nodded and tucked her arm under the covers, snuggling down.

Sam watched her until her breaths became deep and slow. He didn't know what kind of medicine the doctor had given her, but it helped her rest, even with all of the drama taking place in her body. He really wanted to share some of those drugs.

He turned and shuffled over to a chair he had "liberated" from an unlocked office. They weren't in a part of the base meant to accommodate patients. Yanked away from Summerlin Hospital, the military had transported them, keeping them safely tucked away from curious eyes and enemy sensors. They had been thrust down dark hallways and into hastily modified rooms, hidden on Nellis Air Base, far from the base hospital.

Sam moved the blanket and pillow out of the seat. He flopped into his chair, and spread the blanket over his lap. He squirmed as he mashed the pillow under his head, trying to find a comfortable position.

Needing sleep, he shut his eyes.

…

The hums and beeps of the machines, that monitored his wife, crept into his head, and held off any rest. Then a cramp gripped his calf muscle. He shifted and reached down to rub the complaining area.

He fidgeted in his chair, trying to block out the noise of the machines with his pillow, while still using it to support his head. He wondered if he could suffocate himself with the unaccommodating bedding item, at least then he wouldn't be so tired.

Sore, exhausted, frustrated, and with too much sugar and caffeine running through his blood stream, Sam gave up. He pulled himself out of the chair and stretched, rubbing his burning eyes.

A nurse slipped into the room. She nodded and offered him an apologetic smile, and then stepped towards the machines. She went from one to the other, quietly logging the results on a clipboard.

The nurse turned away from her work and gave him a small shrug. "They seem to be doing ok, for now," she whispered.

Sam simply nodded; fatigue stole any witty comments from him.

From the bed, Mikaela's soft snores punctuated his restlessness. Jealous of his wife, Sam sighed.

The nurse slipped out of the room and Sam followed her. He decided to roam the corridors until he collapsed. Maybe they would find him blissfully asleep, collapsed in a corner, soring, drooling and deep into "La-La Land".

His shuffling feet brought him to a security checkpoint. More of a bored soldier, sitting at a tiny desk, someone had dragged into the hallway, than a security checkpoint, but the weapons arming the soldier kept this from being a joke.

He nodded a greeting at the soldier.

"There's a new pot of coffee on," the man informed him.

Sam glanced at the name on the uniform. "Thanks Diggs, but I think I'll pass." He held his hand up and exaggerated the tremors, showing how little he needed the caffeine.

Diggs smirked and nodded knowingly. He scribbled something down in a logbook and checked his watch.

Sam picked through the magazines someone had dumped on a nearby chair. "You keeping tabs on me?"

Diggs chuckled. "Yes. You know that you can go past this desk, we _will_ let you back in."

"Don't want to wonder too far." Sam pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "You know, the old ball and chain and everything."

The other man nodded.

Sam held up a _Popular Science _magazine, showing the guard.

Diggs just absently waved him away.

Sam resumed his pacing along the hallways. He flipped through the pages of the magazine, only marginally paying attention to the path he traveled. He had previously learned the layout of this area through his insomniatic meanderings.

He walked towards Mikaela's room, and stopped to briefly look in at her. She hadn't moved and appeared to be fine, so he continued with his pacing.

His steps took him to the room housing the only other patient in the makeshift, super-secret, high security, underground hospital.

Slowly, he opened the door and in the harsh light Reginald Seymour Simmons, Special Agent extraordinaire lay unconscious. Hoses and wires from a dozen machines criss-crossed themselves as they snaked under the blankets that covered the former agent.

Sam took a long look at the man. Purple-black bruises covered large section of his exposed skin along with scrapes, cuts and gouges. One arm lay immobile in a cast, long metal pins sticking out of it like a medieval torture device. Simmons appeared to have been chewed up and spit out by a stump grinder.

"How is he?" Sam asked as he stared at the man.

"The same. However, he did regain consciousness for a few minutes. Kept muttering something about a 'you bitch, you pulled me from the game.'"

Sam's stomach twisted and his heart leapt up into his throat. The Autobots had probably lost one of their own to the Decepticon. He had known Velocity before and after her "death" and transformation. He considered her a friend, someone he could talk to and bounce ideas off. He knew Bumblebee liked her and tried to engage her whenever he could. He had jokingly mentioned that 'Bee had a girlfriend. The scout's adamant "No" had shocked Sam, leaving him scratching his head.

He had heard the rumors going around that Velocity had intentionally injured Simmons, and he didn't believe any of them. He didn't know the details of the attack, but he knew that the Autobots went out of their way to _not_ harm humans, and even if she hadn't started her existence as an Autobot, Velocity served as one now. Half-guesses and speculations did more damage that good right now, but he didn't have enough info to correct any rumors he intercepted.

He needed to talk to be, or someone that could tell him what had happened. He weighed whether he should head to the surface and find 'Bee or stay by his wife's side.

He turned, and handed the male nurse the magazine. "Sorry it took so long, I forgot. Will this one work?"

The man took the offered magazine and flipped through the cover. "I don't think I've actually read this one yet." He looked at Sam. "It's no hurry, but if you head back this way, could you grab some coffee. Black would be awesome. Thanks"

Sam nodded. The Savior of The World, reduced to errand-boy, headed back towards his slumbering wife.

_**XxxX**_

Excitement bubbled through her whole body, and she had to resist the urge to squeal like a schoolgirl. Not only could she going to help the Autobots find the missing Velocity, but she would get one Hell of a story out of it, _and_ have a face to face with Optimus Prime, something every reporter dreams of. She padded the warm, metal plating underneath her.

"Do you think he will help out?" Catherine asked.

Smokescreen turned to look at her. "It isn't a matter of if the Prime will help, but if he will give us permission."

Sitting on Hound's shoulder, Catherine came almost eye level with the other mech. She watched in rapt fascination how the individual plates on the mech's face shifted and moved; emoting, making these aliens, less alien. Being with these robots would never get old.

"Well why wouldn't he give us permission? You said that Optimus would want to…" She yawned, needing more sleep. "Sorry, you said that Optimus would want to try and locate Velocity, and this is the quickest way to get the word out."

Smokescreen stepped in front of Hound halting their progress down the hallway. "It isn't just a case of 'getting the word out'. Optimus could turn down our proposal for any number of reasons, and he doesn't have to explain himself. I am going to remind you that you will be addressing the leader of our world and to remain respectful at all times."

The reporter crossed her arms over her chest, and her lips sticking out in a pout. "You think I can't handle myself around someone important? I have met him before."

Hound sighed, the rise and fall of his chest jostled Catherine, and she grabbed a piece of metal to hold onto to. He turned his head towards her. "It isn't that you will offend him, it's just that Optimus is under a lot of stress and he may not be as…" The mech scratched his head, as if unsure what word to use. "Optimus just won't be his normal self. OK"

Catherine shrugged. "Oh, come on. Optimus seems like a mellow… guy. I can't imagine him being anything but that."

The two Autobots exchanged a silent look.

Smokescreen addressed her. "Miss. Cutter, like Hound has said, the Prime is under tremendous stress. We are going to present this idea to him and if he rejects it, you need to accept it, graciously. Arguing will only work against us."

"Oh, my God. You both act like _the Prime _is going to say no. Once we lay it out for him, he would be an idiot to not let me do the report. Come on, if enough people see it, someone is sure to have information."

"We all agree that this is a solid plan, but the Prime might look at it differently. He could assess things differently, and might have information that we do not have. He is the Prime; he is our leader for a reason. Whatever he decides, we will accept." Smokescreen's smooth voice, sounded reasonable and confident.

Catherine dropped her gaze, looking at the ugly socks on her feet. She really wanted to wear something better, but her decent clothes were ruined, caked with dirt and sweat. Fortunately, some of the soldiers scrounged a set of sweat pant and a t-shirt for her, nothing to be worn while meeting the leader of an alien race. She made a mental note to stash some acceptable clothes here; it seems that every time she showed up around the Autobots, her outfits got ruined.

She also thought about the plan they had concocted to locate Velocity. It had been Smokescreen's idea really. He had based it off the Amber Alert System. Just get as many news agencies to carry the story of Velocity's abduction and hope that with seven billion sets of eyes on the planet someone, somewhere, has seen something.

In planning this, she and the two Autobots had mulled over how much information to give out and what pictures of Velocity to use, so few existed to choose from. Out of nowhere, a human sized image of the femmebot flickered to life in front of her.

She had jumped backwards and squeaked in alarm. It took her about half a second to realize the "femme" was just an image.

Hound had chuckled at her, causing the hologram to warble.

Catherine stuck her tongue out at him; she had watched enough sci-fi movies to know about holograms. Except, this hologram appeared solid. She reached out to touch it, but her hand had slid right through.

The Velocity hologram glared at her and crossed its arms over its chest, tapping its foot in annoyance.

"That's amazing!" She continued to gawk at the image, walking around it, taking in the details.

The Hologram turned its head following her, as if alive.

"Ain't much. I already see details I need to change. I've been gathering visual data of the little femme for a while, but producing this took longer to make than it should have. If she caught me staring at her for too long, she'd slink away."

"You made this?"

The green mech shrugged. "It's part of my duties, I create holograms of every 'Bot and 'Con I can. We can then use them for future identification, among other things."

"Admit it you're the best holoprogrammer on and off Cybertron."

Smokescreen had smiled softly at Hound, and to Catherine the expression held a little more than just comradory. She didn't think about the implications of that look, it hinted at things she didn't want to think about.

Immediately, she wanted to use the hologram. A technological one-two punch to both shows off the amazing skills of the Autobot's, and allow the viewers to see one of the robots up close, instead of a towering colossus. She had already planned the newscast and wanted to amaze the audience. Draw them in closer to the Autobots, make them sympathize and want to help.

The mechs turned a corner, jostling Catherin out of her reminiscing.

Hound held out his hand to her, and she slid onto his palm, holding onto one of his fingers for stability. The image of a well-trained parakeet sitting on its owner's finger filtered across her head. She shoved it aside.

Nervousness filtered in her chest, she knew enough about the lay out of the base to know that they neared the area Optimus Prime had staked out as his own. She couldn't wait to sell the idea to the enormous red and blue Autobot. Any report she could air on national TV firmly established her as the go-to reporter for all things alien. Six years ago, no respectful reporter would risk their reputation by using the term "aliens from space". Now, reporters scrambled for access to the giant robots, and here she was, sitting in one's hand.

Catherin Cutter giggled softly to herself. She had finally arrived.

A muffled bang, more a vibration than a sound, echoed down the hallway.

Catherine glanced at up at Hound, but the mech exchanged a looked with Smokescreen. Both of the Autobots frowned, expressions of concern on their faces.

Hound's fingers curled around her, not constricting, but holding her securely. Both of her companions hurried down the hall, their pace quick, but not a full out run.

She wrapped her arms around one of the fingers, trying the keep from bouncing painfully against metal digits.

They rapidly approached an open doorway. The closer they came to the shadowy opening, the less Catherine wanted to be in the area. A feeling of dread crept up her spine and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

"Hound," she whispered. "I don't think…"

"Shh." The Autobot interrupted her. His steps slowed and the pounding of their metal feet faded into quiet taps.

She glanced at Smokescreen; the mechanoid didn't pay her any attention. Instead, his optics focused on the entryway. She followed his gaze, and peeked through Hound's fingers. The enormous doorjamb framed the scene. Ironhide and Ratchet stood before the Prime's desk; their massive forms initially blocked her view.

Then, the Prime's deep voice pounded the air. "I will not ignore her while they torture her."

Catherine shivered, as cold fear slipped into her blood. That voice scared her, devoid of any warmth or humanity; it held the low growl of a diesel engine, a mechanical threat. For the first time, she could imagine these enormous, benign robots as anything but benign.

Ratchet placed his hands on his hips, and bent slightly at the waist. "You cannot help her. Close the bond and save yourself the suffering."

"No! I will not abandon her!"

At that moment, Ironhide turned to the side, looking at her and her two companions. The dark face filled with surprise and anger.

His movement left a gap.

Optimus Prime, the towering leader of the Autobots, sat behind his desk, hunched over, his hands cradled his head, his fingers laced around the finials on his helm. The angry rumble of his engine vibrated the air. He looked up, his blazing optics glared at her, and punched through her soul.

Catherine gasped.

A shadow fell over her.

Hound's other hand covered her, forcing her to curl into a ball or bump her head. The hand blocked her view. Rapid, muffled Cybertronian filtered to her, some of the tones obviously raw and angry, some apologetic. She couldn't understand any of it.

Sealed in Hound's hands, she could only wait in the darkness. Her thoughts about what she had just witnessed swirled erratically. She had seen something she shouldn't have, a side of the alien robots that they kept hidden from humanity.

Remembering that hateful glow, she wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't fear for her life, but that look in Optimus Primes' optics terrified her. Smokescreen's words came back to her with an ominous warning, "He is our leader for a reason."

_**XxxX**_

"Where is the base?" Hardcore screamed, and stabbed her violently with the shock-stick.

Velocity silently writhed in agony; her vocals had already shorted out from the strain of screaming.

The stick slammed into a different seam in her armor, the points piercing a line. Lightening shot through her frame, a searing, white burn. She tried to answer him, but only static emitted from her vocals.

"Tell me you worthless scrap heap! Tell me what I want to know so that I can blow the rest of your kind into extinction!" He pulled the shock stick back and jammed it in her again. "I report what I have seen." He stabbed her again, igniting a fire that burned her circuits.

"They say that I am 'mistaken'." He jammed the shock-stick into her again.

"They believe the Autobot lies over my evidence!" He pulled the torture device free from her body and slammed it into her shoulder joint.

Her back struts arched, hypercoils tightened spasmodically against the unrelenting pain tearing through her body. She gasped noiselessly, unable to suck air across her vents. Static danced across her HUD, blocking her limited view. She thrashed around, desperate to get away from the agony, unable to escape. By chance, her talons caught purchase in the concrete and she thrust herself forward, away from the mech and the torture.

The accidental movement placed her out of the shock-stick's sting and bought her a few seconds of relief.

She moaned, a crackled, broken sound slipped from her vocals.

"Where are the rest of the femmes?" The mech demanded again, his pedfalls shaking the ground.

He stabbed her in the shoulder again. The shock stick bit against transformation gears. The current raced through her frame, disrupting mechanical functions. Her pump skipped and the meager energon in her system to pool, unable to fuel her body. Blackness collected around the edges of her visual field and one thought formed in her addled processor, _He is going to kill me_.

Velocity reacted, her intent to move away from Hardcore. Once more, she kicked out with her functioning leg. Instead of locking into hard concrete, her claws snagged living metal. A deep guttural scream shook the building around her. The shock-sick still sent painful waves of electrical current through her body, but now it passed from her back to the mech that inflicted it.

She twisted enough to see Hardcore locked into position, his facial plates twisted in a distortion of agony. Small arches of electricity licked across his armor.

The mech yanked his arm back, pulling the shock-stick away from her. He took a couple of stumbling steps backwards, dragging her until her claws came loose from his leg. Hardcore collapsed into a moaning heap.

Velocity lay still, keeping watch on her tormenter. The shadow along the edge of her HUD faded some, but still danced along the edge of her vision. Her systems struggled to recover. Her frame popped, the heat rolling off her. The need to shut down warred with the need to keep watch on her enemy.

The nearby mech moaned.

She understood what had happened. Very basic science really, she had simply closed the circuit between her, Hardcore and the shock-stick, feeding the current into her tormenter. Metal bodies conducted electricity very well.

Hardcore rolled onto his side, and stared at her. His expression unreadable, but his vents cycled hard and fast.

A small voice deep inside Velocity's soul spoke. "He can't handle the pain. He can't take what he dishes out." The predator deep within her stirred. That part of her that had kept her from being human had stayed dormant in her new body, rarely raising its shaggy, bestial head. Now, it moved within her, spreading, melding with her.

She knew that she couldn't fight the Decepticon right now, weak and injured, she lay helpless, but if she had a chance...

A cold, carnivorous smile spread along her features. "You will pay," she choked out.

_**XxxX**_

His symbiots relayed everything they saw and heard back to him. Real time data streamed into his processor, while sub-routines analyzed and categorized the information. A couple of files captured his attention and he opened them immediately, determining their significance, but the rest he saved for when he recharged, when he had time to delve into them in detail.

A across his comms, a warning chimed softly. He paused his work, and turned his focus towards Lazerbeak. The winged symbiot enthusiastically warned him of Barricade's approach.

Soundwave activated an inset on his HUD, and watched from Lazerbeak's optics, seeing and hearing along with his symbiot.

The shock trooper stomped across the dry ground, his peds marking the sand where he stepped. The mech looked up, his gaze rested solidly on Lazerbeak, his facial plates pressed tightly together in anger… or annoyance.

It did not matter, Soundwave didn't care about the mech's emotional state, only what brought the other here. Few ever dared disturb Soundwave within his ship.

Barricade stepped on the ramp leading to the interior of the shuttle.

The world shifted and tilted sideways as Lazerbeak took flight circling the spacecraft.

Soundwave shut off the feed and carefully covered his workbench with a tarp, obscuring what lay upon it, and protecting it from the ever-present dust of this world. Then, he leisurely changed the display on his data pad to something trivial about energon supplies and troop deployment. Information Barricade could gather by asking the other Decepticons.

He turned around and calmly waited. It wouldn't take the shock trooper long to locate his energy signature. No need to waste time pretending that he didn't know about Barricade's presence.

He didn't have long to wait before the shock trooper entered the fabrication workshop.

Soundwave kept his sensors carefully focused onto Barricade. Experience had taught the communications specialist to practice absolute caution, even around supposed allies. He noted how Barricade stepped into the chamber and paused. The mech's core temperature ran hotter than normal and that his pump pounded rapidly in his chest. Trivial bits of information that informed Soundwave of Barricade's state. Any other mech might try to placate an upset fellow, but not Soundwave. He saw no point in calming his subordinate.

Soundwave chose to remain silent and let Barricade be the first to speak.

The shock trooper barely bowed, offering a curt gesture of subjugation. "Lord Soundwave, it has come to my attention that Hardcore was derelict in his duties and abandoned his post."

Quietly and pensively, Soundwave regarded the other mech. He already knew about Hardcore's absence and with whom the noble meet with during his unsanctioned hiatus. He weighted his options: should he keep the information to himself or share it. If he shared the intel with the shock trooper, Barricade may take matters into his own hands. The black and white mech had brutal temper and took a special pleasure in eradicating any that might betray the Decepticon cause.

Soundwave looked at the other mech. "Affirmative. Hardcore meet with the Autobot Mirage."

Barricades optic shutters narrowed to lethal slits. "And what was the purpose of this meeting?" he hissed.

"Unknown." Soundwave answered.

Soundwave turned and walked back to his workbench, confident that their discussion had finished.

Pedfalls thumped softly behind him, falling gradually closer instead of retreating.

He glanced over his shoulder, Barricade closed some of the distance between them.

Soundwave waited.

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, Barricade spoke. "I don't wish to question your judgment, but is the femme's life truly valuable? Isn't keeping her a risk? The humans could discover her and inform the Autobots."

Soundwave turned back to his workbench, unperturbed at the shock trooper's concerns. Barricade lacked knowledge of the femme's connection to the Prime, and did not need that information to perform his duties effectively.

"The femme serves a purpose, as does Hardcore. Once the femme is gone, Hardcore serves no purpose."

The shock trooper's low growl rumbled around the chamber, and Soundwave didn't know if the mech responded in rising anger or the promise of violence, nor did he care. Barricade was just another weapon within the Decepticon arsenal, a sword to cleave the weak from the strong.

"Dismissed." Soundwave said.

Barricade stood for a few astroseconds before he turned and left the chamber.

Soundwave activated his HUD and linked to Rumble, observing Barricade as he left the ship.

Once, fully alone, he focused his attention back to his work. The computer belonging to the human Anthony Melby had had contained some very interesting data. So interesting, in fact, that Soundwave felt smug satisfaction over his decision to keep the femme, the Prime's bondmate, functioning. She would prove most useful; especially now, that he had a slight change of plans.

He doubted that the human knew how important the files on the primitive computer were, or that in Decepticon hands they proved which reports and rumors were false, and which were true.

Soundwave picked up his data pad and pulled up the diagram again. He studied it carefully. Complicated and convoluted, the chamber allowed an energy source to grow and expand while neither diminishing nor using any other energy to sustain it.

It had taken him a while to figure out why the Autobots would bother with such a thing. It confused him, for the device didn't have any way to harvest the output, a completely closed system. The design allowed energy to be held and maintained, but this was illogical considering how precious reliable energy sources were to any Cybertronian. It took him two full orns to realize what the device would be used for; the excitement surged along his circuits. Only one thing could warrant such a painstaking and complicated creation, something that they would waste the time and effort to build this device for.

The Allspark.

It had not been destroyed, and the Autobots had it.

This changed his plans… slightly. It took both the Allspark and the Matrix of Leadership to fully rule Cybertron and he possessed the means to claim both.

First, he had to verify that his actions would not be rightfully challenged.

Opening a private link, he called a loyalist. "Thundercracker, report for assignment."

_**XxxX**_

A/N : As always, thank you and loves to everyone that continues to follow and fav this, and my other stories. Kiba, this chapter is for you. ;) Sometimes even I need a push to continue writing.

I spent a week outlining and detailing the rest of this fic. It looks like it is going to stretch out to 60 chapters. Chapter 39 is already in progress, ;)

**To Moosagi** – Thank you, and glad to have you back. I can't tell what will happen, it will ruin the surprise. **To FORD B.** - Thank you. This will take a while to resolve, but it will be resolved. **To Mercedes Wolfcry**- She is great a t getting into pickles. **To Tiamat72** - Alas not everyone likes the Autobots like we do. Velocity is learning the realities of war, not everything has a happy ending. **To Phoebe Turner** – Thank you. **To Liz** – Thank you. You made me blush. I hope to get this fic finished sooner than later, but RL seems to have other things to say about it. **To Frilly Kat** – Thank you. The Cosmos story is in a chapter by the same name ;). Hehe I have to reread to keep things straight and this is my dang fic. **To Femme4Jack **– Thank you. I try to keep these fics grounded in reality as much as possible, and as a student of human nature, our species doesn't really impress me much. ;) I and glad you like this, knowing that means a lot to me. **To Faith Destroyer** - *waves a black notebook* here are all the notes on how it will end. Wanna see? Seriously though, thank you, and I and glad you enjoyed it. **To Starfire 201** – Oh, a couple of Decepticons are going to realize how dangerous a mad femme can be ^^. The secdef needs to realize that she is dealing leader of an entire race, not the leader of a piddly country. Respect is hard to show and harder to earn.

**To all my readers** – Thank you for reading and thank you for the support.


	39. Opening Move

**Rated:** M for adult themes. Language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore. They vary from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk. Nothing particular for this chapter.

**Important Note**: This series of fics were started before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM fic.

**Disclaimer:** The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

_**XxxX**_

_**Opening Move**_

_**XxxX**_

The slick floors and numerous turns kept him from all-out sprinting, and his steps fell behind the longer strides of the Prime. The thunder of their powerful ped-falls sounded painfully in his audios and reverberated in every direction, a loud cacophony with a fast, erratic tempo that bounced off walls, and echoed down the featureless hallways.

Neither of them slowed, and they raced forward. They turned a corner and then another, weaving their way through the maze of the base. A final turn and their objective came into sight, beyond an opening flanked by heavy doors.

Neither of them slowed in their headlong race. They bolted towards the central dais. Prowl's pistons and hypercoils strained from the demand, pumping kinetic energy to his legs, driving him forward.

Optimus reached the lift first, and leapt. His peds rang out harshly, metal striking metal. He turned and reached towards Prowl, offering a hand.

Prowl leapt onto the dais, and the lift beneath him shuddered. The Prime grabbed him, large hands clamped onto his black and white armor, stabilizing him. A harsh tremor shook the floor, the heavy machinery in motion as the dais began its ascent. Above, the blast doors slid open with a loud creak. His commander had activated the lift before they ever reached it.

The tactician turned to face his leader, and the Prime's hands fell away from him. Optimus's armor pressed tightly against his frame, minimizing any gaps or seams, his electrical field swirled unabated and unchecked, cold and hostile. A frozen anger settled around them, and unseen mist that touched Prowl's sensors and seeped past the seams in his armor. Optimus's battle mask snapped tightly in place, a mech heading into battle. His leader stared at the hollow shaft above them, his arms at his side and his hands curled into tight fists. He stood motionless save for a slight sway produced by the movement of the lift.

Prowl carefully crossed his arms over his chest, steeling himself against the chill of the fuming Prime. He hid his own emotions behind a calm exterior, not wanting to amplify his leader's mood. Although renowned for his patience and gentle manner, Optimus had a darker side, a ruthlessness that showed when he stepped onto a battlefield and decimated any mech in his path. Prowl did not want to awaken that part of his leader, sometimes words served better than blades or bullets.

They needed to move faster, precious astroseconds way during this excruciating slow ride to the top.

"Did you order the humans to evacuate the base?"

"Yes, Prime," Prowl responded, keeping his tone neutral. "I have also set up a security perimeter around the complex and sent the order to not fire unless fired upon."

The Prime nodded once, but continued to stare upwards.

He followed Optimus's gaze, a beam of sunlight cut a bright crescent on the tunnel wall above them. The light spread as they neared it. A golden glow pooled around the opening of the elevator and painted them with its radiance as they raised the last few histers to the top. It did nothing to warm the chill coming from the Prime.

The dais stopped with a smooth, flawless motion as the gears settled into place, an odd finish to such a rough start.

Optimus cycled his vents, and stepped off the lift with a calm, fluid grace, the rush of the previous breems evaporated. To anyone watching, the Prime moved as if he commanded the situation and all would wait for him. Just as it should be.

Prowl stepped off the dais, and followed. It took him a couple of hurried steps to catch up, but it offered him time to reign in his own sense of anticipation. He forced his shoulders to relax and his armor plating hang a bit looser, showing confidence and a lack of concern he didn't feel. This meeting would involve tedious posturing and insipid one-upping before anything else occurred, even weapons play.

The SIC looked up at his leader, a dark fury burned behind the Prime's blue optics. Optimus kept his battle mask in place and held his armor tight around him, allowing all see the contained aggression.

_A chancy strategy_, thought Prowl, especially if viewed it covering up any weaknesses.

The Prime continued forward, and Prowl followed. The stream of light, led them outside the hanger, to the muffled roar of distant jet engines. Around them, Autobot warriors, with weapons drawn, charged and ready, waited their orders.

"You can tell that mother-fucking plane that I enjoy my down time and he's pissing on my day." Epps hollered. The man sat in the driver seat of a nearby Humvee. The vehicle's door hung open and a M249 SAW rested in the soldier's lap. Dressed and ready for battle, Lennox stood next to him, leaning against the side of the tan vehicle, multiple weapons hung of him, secured by straps and holsters. A small arsenal sat on the Humvee's hood.

Prowl stepped between the men and Prime. "You were instructed to evacuate your men, and remain below ground until we ascertain the Decepticon's intentions."

Epps shifted the weapon, and hopped out of the vehicle. He looked around. "Yeah, well. You aren't my commanding officer." The human looked at Lennox.

Prowl looked towards Lennox, hoping from some rational support. The commanding officer shrugged and continued checking his weapons.

A hand clamped on Prowl's shoulder. The Prime stepped around him, and lowered himself to one knee, crouching eye level with the humans. "I would prefer it..."

The muffled roar of the seekers engines reminded them all what awaited in the distance.

Lennox interrupted, stepping towards Optimus, "I know you would, and thanks for trying to protect us, but this is my planet, and as senior officer here, it is my duty to represent my species, and shove my foot up some 'con aft if necessary." He holstered the weapon in his hand.

Epps chimed in, "Let's double tap that bastard plane." He patted the stock of his SAW.

Human and Prime stared at each other for several long seconds, before Optimus spoke. "It is my intention to attempt to conduct this meeting without physical conflict. If we can negotiate Velocity's safe return then the Decepticon will leave this area functioning and whole."

The men exchanged a look that Prowl could not decipher.

Lennox shrugged. "Then let's get your girl. Standing here, pissing in the wind isn't going to get it done."

Optimus blinked, his masked face unreadable, but the sharp sting of anger in his electrical field dulled. "I would prefer to keep my relationships private," he almost whispered the words.

Lennox smiled slyly and nodded. "Understood, sir."

Optimus nodded and stood. He turned, looking towards the stretch of black tarmac.

Prowl looked down at the humans. "Remain with Ratchet. I am keeping some of our forces in reserve." He pointed to where the medic waited in the shadows between two buildings.

Epps glared at him while Lennox relayed the orders into the mike of his radio. Several distant vehicles started up and moved towards Ratchet's position. The two men quickly stowed their weapons and crawled back into their Humvee. As they drove off, Prowl heard Epps grumble about respect.

Hurting the human's feelings didn't bother him, they would be safer in the distance and he wouldn't have to worry about them getting under ped. Regardless of what Optimus stated about avoiding violence during this meeting, the tactician worried about winning a potential fight with as few casualties as possible.

Optimus walked towards the black ribbon that cut into the desert sands, a smooth length of concrete, perfect place for a jet to land.

Over the communication links, Prowl quietly repositioned the other mechs, as he trailed behind his leader. He moved pawns and knights into position, just like in a human game of chess, but this was no game. Hound and Warpath, he told to remain in their altforms, hidden among the Earth vehicles, unseen, but ready. Ratchet, he reminded to stay out of the line of fire, the medic's primary function was to ensure that everyone lived to fight another day, not to engage the enemy. The rest, he distributed here and there, based on abilities and weapons systems. He noted that the twins had climbed to the top of the human barracks, the tallest building on the base, a perfect place to launch one of their infamous attacks. He left them there, hoping that their reputation for permanently grounding seekers would keep this one in line, and also hoping that the twins didn't take it upon themselves to make the first moves. Their prowess in battle was almost over shadowed by their recklessness and unpredictability… almost.

Finally, Prowl called in Ironhide, an extra show of muscle to accompany he and the Prime. The black mech trotted towards them, a formidable mass of strong hypercoils, reinforced gears, thick armor and devastating weapons. When the ancient warrior reached them, they exchanged silent nods and moved towards the Prime. Without an exchange of words, they flanked their leader, standing as sentries, bodyguards and backup firepower.

Optimus tilted he head back, his masked face skyward, optic shutters narrowed against the sun's glare. He tracked the distant jet circling the base, turning to keep it in his sights.

"I am here!" he bellowed aloud and across all Cybertronian comm frequencies.

The jet banked and shot skyward, climbing through the atmosphere, a dot lost among a wash of endless blue, fading in the haze.

They all stared at the cloudless sky. Prowl searched the heavens, scanning rapidly. The fingers on his primary weapon arm twitched.

They all waited.

The high pitched whine of an object slicing through the air, barely reached their audios. The sound grew louder, deeper.

A dark shadow formed above them. It spread rapidly eating up the blue sky.

Prime stepped back, clearing a place for the fast falling plane.

As the silhouette plummeted towards them, Prowl dropped to one knee, and locked his stabilizers. His arm transformed into the barrel of a rifle and glowed as his weapon charged. Next to him, Ironhide brought his cannons forward, and crouched to lower his center of gravity, anchoring himself to the ground. They followed the Decepticon's decent, the sights of their weapons trailing the seeker.

Optimus backed away, moved to stand between them, tall and proud, his electrical field snapping and crackling. The Prime kept his arms crossed over his chest, his stance wide.

The Decepticon streaked towards them, nose first. Then, in midair, he transformed, and with an acrobatic flip, landed peds first. His weight and velocity shattered the concrete, chunks bounced and skittered in all directions. Some of them pinged against Prowl's armor.

The Seeker rose to his full height, a smile slowly spread along his facial plates, as his optics shifted from one Autobot to another. He turned in a tight circle, observing his surroundings, and all those around him.

"I am impressed. You have brought out everyone to greet me... Oh, wait. Not quite everyone."

_**XxxX**_

A frozen, seething rage swirled from the depths of his spark. It crept along his lines, and chilled his energon. It filled his processor, an arctic whisper promising vengeance and violence. He despised that inner voice. When it spoke, it reminded him of battlefield atrocities and unimaginable cruelties. Dark and rasping, the voice had also kept him alive during so many vorns of war. He knew that the voice served a purpose, even though he hated it, the voice had taught him ruthlessness. He allowed the voice whisper to him and the burning cold seep into his energy field. He wanted his enemies to know that they faced an enraged Prime with a wrath harsher than the blackness of space.

Right now, Velocity's terror and her suffering fueled his anger. The torment she endured still lingered within his spark, ghostly tendrils that brushed along his thoughts and laid a slimy, film over his entire being. Even through their blocked bond, he could still sense her. Bits of her emotions slipped past the barrier and made him volatile, irrational.

He wanted to charge the Decepticon standing before him; he wanted to engage his hooks and sink them deep into the mech and pry him apart. He wanted to make someone pay for what they had done to Velocity. He wanted vengeance.

His hands curled into tight fists, finger pads denting the metal of his palms. Tremors raced along his hypercoils as they tensed involuntary, ready to propel him into battle. Systems clicked on and programs routed power to his weapons, charging them before he ever thought to activate them. Battle protocols onlined, sharpening his focus and shortening his reaction time, turning him into a creation of righteous hate.

But battle would not be.

Attacking Thundercracker served no purpose and would jeopardize any chance of getting Velocity back alive. If they could locate the femme's whereabouts, then the possibility of extraction could be evaluated, but right now, violence would only ensure her death.

He knew this. He understood this, yet the desire to take on the Seeker raced along his circuits. They had hurt her.

Optimus pulled air over his intakes, but his frame didn't relax. Underneath the alien sun, he reminded himself that he was the Prime of Cybertron, the first and the best, the example to be followed, above the pettiness of insults and slights. He was a ruler and leader, even if he didn't want to act like it. He had to remain calm, passive, and hear out this enemy, but he held onto his anger. Anger the Decepticon would understand, any other emotion would be viewed as a weakness, something to take advantage of.

Behind him, Ironhide's cannons hummed in continuous threat. Optimus knew that his oldest friend would back him, and encage the Decepticon without hesitation or mercy. He took cold comfort that neither Prowl nor any of the other Autobots here today would pause if he sounded the command to attack. Around him gathered some of the toughest and most resilient, the survivors of a long war. They had survived by being cold and ruthless, resourceful and resolute; they had survived by killing quickly and efficiently. An endless conflict had honed these Autobots, taught them brutal skills, and forged common mechs into lethal weapons. They would slaughter the Seeker with little concern or thought, but right now, Thundercracker acted as a messenger. Only Megatron and his followers butchered messengers, and Autobots were nothing like the Decepticons.

"Why are you here?" growled Optimus.

The Decepticon smiled at him, the expression lacked all warmth and sincerity. "Lord Soundwave is interested in a possible negotiation, but first you must prove your honest willingness to cooperate." Thundercracker gestured casually, his arrogant confidence radiating his contempt for all of them.

"A Decepticon worried about honesty? Now I have heard everything," shouted Sideswipe.

Optimus shot a quick, stern glare towards the melee warrior crouched on the barrack roof. A metal gargoyle with murder burning in his optics, all of the humor and smarmy charm gone, replaced by a hungry, predatory countenance.

He turned back to the Seeker. "What does Soundwave want?"

"_Lord_ Soundwave requires the coordinates to where you hid the High Lord's remains."

The Prime blinked, his processor choked on the unlikeliness of the request. Trading Velocity for fuel, or using her to negotiate an Autobot withdrawal he understood and expected. But this, this was too simple. This information would not cost the Autobots anything, there had to be a catch.

Optimus's processor whirred frantically, trying to see through the simplicity of the obvious ruse. He glanced at his tactician; Prowl's frown mirrored his own. The Prime hoped that by the time this meeting adjourned his SIC will have formulated several legitimate reason why Soundwave would want such data. Optimus bet that sentimentality had nothing to do with it.

"And then you will release Velocity?" the Prime asked, a tiny breath of hope whispered in his spark, hiding among all the doubt, suspicion and anger.

The Decepticon laughed. "No. this is only to see if you will cooperate."

The hammer strike of disappointment shattered the hope in Optimus's spark. The Prime hid the crushing weight of his emotions behind narrowed optic shutters and let anger wash over him once more.

Soundwave wanted to play a games, and dangle Velocity's life in from of him, using her to make him heel. Optimus silently promised his mate that eventually, the Decepticons would regret ever choosing this path.

"And how can we know that the femme even still functions, or that she will not be harmed?" Prowl's question brought up a legitimate point.

Thundercracker shrugged. "You'll just have to trust me." He spread his arms into a gesture of welcome and mock friendship.

"Wow! First the slagger talks about honesty and now, trust. Are we in Bizzaro World?"

"Mute it you slag heap." Sunstreaker snapped at his brother. "And stop watching so much TV."

The Decepticon whipped his head towards the arguing brothers; a sneer turned his facial plates into a hate-filled vestige.

"TV? I prefer graphic novels. Much more intellectual." Sideswipe retorted with audible indignation.

Optimus ignored the twins, at this moment their inane ramblings meant little to him. Tension flared around the Seeker, and he stared at Thundercracker, watching for any signs that the Seeker had activated his weapons.

He hadn't.

Thundercracker slowly he turned his attention back to the Prime. "I was told that one of you would be able to tell if the femme was terminated or not." Thundercracker's words settled over the assemblage of Autobots.

Optimus didn't respond to the taunt. He held his features in a hard, angry frown. He didn't uncurl his fists or draw back the ire in his energy field. _He wants to see who reacts; he is suspicious and is trying to figure it out_, the Prime thought to himself.

A full human minute passed, and the Seeker shrugged when no one took his bait. "If you do not cooperate, the little femme will suffer."

_One of you has already made my mate to suffer, I can feel her soul wilt and cry for mercy_, Optimus growled within his processor. Outwardly, he responded differently, "We do not have those coordinates, and it may take some time to acquire them."

He spoke the truth. None of the Autobots knew where the humans had entombed Megatron. No, amount of persuasion could convince government that the High Lord wouldn't simple reactivate and attack again. Optimus though the argument naive and ridiculous, so he relented. Ultimately, he didn't care what the humans did with Megatron, for he never intended to visit his brother's grave.

"Fine," growled Optimus. "Tell Soundwave that we will comply, but need time."

"Time is something the femme doesn't have much of. If I were you, I'd hurry up." Thundercracker winked.

The Prime squeezed his fists tighter and gears squealed in protest. He had endured the presence of the Decepticon long enough, his circuits buzzed with anger, irritating him. They were using Velocity to manipulate him, and he couldn't do a fragging thing about it... yet.

He seethed as he waited for the Decepticon to shoot skyward in an explosion of afterburners and downdraft.

The astroseconds ticked by, and Thundercracker remained where he stood. The Seeker folded his arms over his chest. A tight smile lifted his facial plates upward, and mischief sparkled in his optics.

Optimus refused to turn his back on the enemy. This small base belonged to him, it was his domain, and the intruder could retreat first.

The Prime waited.

The Decepticon didn't move.

The wait turned awkward.

Thundercracker stared expectantly at him, tapping his ped impatiently. He cocked his head to the side and raised his brow arches in silent question.

From behind, Optimus heard whirs and clicks as Prowl stowed his weapon.

Optimus's hand fiddled with the tires on his leg.

"Why the Pit, are you still here?" snarled Ironhide at the Seeker. His cannons hummed dangerously, the old mech almost never backed down.

The Decepticon shrugged his shoulders. "I am waiting for the coordinates."

"Here?" asked the Prime, his tone high with astonishment.

Thundercracker rolled his optics in their sockets, a shockingly human gesture. Then, the turned his back to the Prime and stared at the desert.

_**XxxX**_

"Madam Secretary, I am asking for your help in this matter…"

"Optimus Prime, this is not a small favor. The information you want is considered potentially dangerous, and has been concealed from the Autobots for a very valid reason. Furthermore, as part of the conditions you agreed to so that you and your Autobots can reside here, on Earth." The voice of Defense Secretary Hernandez echoed around the room, thick with irritation and hostility.

Optimus stared, unblinking, at Teletraan-1. A single white line split the A.I.'s primary display screen, and pulsed every couple of astroseconds. The Prime ground his dental plates together, but kept his stance rigid, and crossed his arms over his chest.

He struggled to keep his vocal fluctuations calm and reasonable, but he could hear the strain lacing his words. "We understand your concern, but when we agreed to allow the United States to dispose of Megatron's remains, I didn't foresee any reason that we would ever need to retrieve him. Now, the situation has changed and I am asking your help."

The pale line on Teletraan's screen spiked and strobed into a multicolored audiograph, fluctuating with the woman's voice. "You want me to tell you where Megatron's grave is located? Why, Optimus? Why is this so important now?"

Optimus glanced to where Prowl and Ratchet stood, their expressions mirrored his, dark, clouded and frustrated.

He didn't want to stand here and haggle with this woman; he just wanted Velocity back before the Decepticons…

Exhaustion almost overcame him; his optics flickered off and his systems attempted to shut down. He listed slightly to one side before forcing a rapid reboot. Optimus reached out and grabbed the edge of Teletraan's control panel, catching himself as the hyper coils in his legs lost tension.

Hands scraped against his armor and roughly gripped at him. He turned his head to look over his shoulder; a dark form stood behind him, held him around the waist, supporting him. He nodded his thanks, and slowly regained his footing. Ironhide's arms remained firmly wrapped around him.

The past few days had weakened him, his systems were worn down by endless anger, worry and frustration. Eventually, he would have to shut down and rest, but not right now. Not while they had to play the Decepticons' games.

A quick glance at Ratchet, the medic's expression informed the Prime that a stern aft chewing would follow this meeting. He didn't really care, he was simply thankful that his friends and inner circle stood beside him. Right now, he needed their insight and support, for his emotions ruled over his processor and he didn't completely trust himself.

The Prime cycled his vents, squaring himself for the impending haggling and negotiating. Patting Ironhide's hands, he let his friend know that his assistance was no longer needed. The battle scared hands carefully slid away, leaving the ghostly sensation of a familiar, and always welcome, electrical field behind.

Optimus addressed the SecDef, "Madam, I agreed to let your government dispose of Megaton, and withhold the knowledge of the location from me as an expression of trust and good will. We do not honor our dead with the same sentimental customs as humans, and he had lost the right to any memorialization long ago.

"Also, your government feared that another Cybertronian could simply revive the High Lord Protector, and no amount of explanation to the contrary has eased your fears. I have argued that such an event was beyond our abilities, yet, no one believes me, and therefore I have ceased attempting to sway your beliefs, because ultimately it is a waste of my time." Optimus let his anger seep into his voice, perhaps he had presented himself as calm and mild-mannered for far too long.

Beside him, Ratchet's engine grumbled in annoyance. "Are we back to this ridiculousness? I have told everyone that asks, 'sparks cannot be revived once extinguished. We are dead at that point.' I am weary of trying to beat this fact into the numerous boney, cranial cavities of your leaders."

"What does it matter? Let the 'cons have Megatron, maybe they can remove a few tons of pollution from this world," Ironhide grumbled as he paced the limited area of Central Ops.

Optimus glared at both the CMO and weapons specialist. Ironhide had stated his opinion and settled himself into a comfortable corner, while Ratchet crossed his arms, his expression unapologetic.

"You told me that this was a secured line," snapped Hernandez. The audiograph jumped to life in sharp spikes of a violent, red hue.

Prime cycled his vents and blinked slowly. His optic shutters threatened to stay shut; they weighed as much as a planet, but he couldn't rest, not right now. He had to push forward and fight for Velocity, for the mechs that followed him, and that meant, ultimately, he fought for himself.

He opened his shutters, and addressed Hernandez, "You asked if this line is secure. It is. No human, and probably no Decepticon can _hack_ it, but I never said that we were alone in our conversation. I have chosen to include my senior officers, much as you have the right to involve your senior staff, if you choose to do so. Now, may we return to the topic at hand?"

"What discussion?" The audiograph bounced in brilliant yellows. "You are requesting information that the United States feels is in its best interest to keep from you."

The Prime's optic shutters narrowed to slits. "To any Cybertronian, Megatron's remains are inconsequential. If can use them to keep Velocity alive and functioning, then I am willing to negotiate a trade and give the Decepticons what they want."

The Secretary remained silent for several long astroseconds before she continued. "I doubt that the National Security Council will see things as you do. What if the Decepticons wish to salvage Megatron's weapon systems? We have seen the destruction that they can cause"

Ratchet scoffed. "Madam, we cannot always interchange parts. Megatron's weapons were uniquely designed for him; his entire frame was dedicated to them. He was more weapon than mech. I highly doubt that another, even Optimus, with extensive retro fitting, could carry that pulse cannon much less activate it and use it in battle without completely draining their own spark."

Optimus waited, this discussion wasn't going well, but it annoyed him how Secretary Hernandez skirted around his questions. She neither denied his request, nor accepted it. All the while he attempted to answer her questions without giving up too much information of his own. They played this idiotic game, and time ticked down on Velocity's life.

The Prime turned and faced his inner circle, placing a finger on his lip components. A human gesture, but one they all knew. ::Any ideas?:: he asked over their internal comm links.

"So, what you are saying is that you just can't pick up any weapon and use it?" Hernandez asked through Teletraan's speakers.

::Optimus, you need to rest, leave this negotiation to Prowl and go shut down, before you fry your primary boards.:: Ratchet interjected.

They all ignored the medic.

::It would be simpler to hack their data base and take what we need.:: commented Prowl.

Optimus responded the Secretary aloud, deciding the keep her engaged until they came up with a better alternative, "Some of our weapons are interchangeable and some are created specifically for a mech." He couldn't afford to burn any bridges just yet.

Over the comm link, the Prime responded to Prowl's comment, ::We cannot hack their mainframe. The humans might view our actions as aggression::

::Also, Wheeljack created a responsive firewall, and anyone attempting to break through it will receive a nasty surprise,:: added Ratchet.

Defeated silence gathered around them. Prowl leaned his weight against Teletraan's console, and crossed one ankle over the other, his head bowed in thought.

Optimus turned his attention back to Hernandez, deciding to "pin her in a corner", to use another human expression. "Madam, time is wasting. Are you going to help us or not?"

A long silence corresponded with a stagnant line on the audiograph.

He knew that Secretary of Defense was weighing her options, as he weighed his.

Optimus waited, even though time was of the utmost importance, the Decepticons worked in a Cybertronian time frame, not the human one. Right now, he had to use that difference to his advantage. Also, he needed a way around the Hernandez. He needed someone who knew about Megatron, the Battle at Mission city and had access to top level intelligence - someone he could convince to help them - someone willing to risk everything; anyone helping them, faced the very real possibility of being labeled a traitor or spy.

A very short list of names popped into his processor. He analyzed the collection, and quickly removed a couple. These people had young families and he could not justify sacrificing their careers, reputations and livelihoods; they were needed to raise their offspring, regardless of how willing they would be to help. Without William Lennox and Robert Epps, the list grew even shorter. Only two names remained, one he couldn't access at the moment and the other he hadn't talked to in months. But these two would most likely assist him, if only to protect Earth. Optimus could accept that, if helping him ultimately helped the humans and stalled out a Decepticon plot, then it was a win win for everyone. _Why couldn't Hernandez understand that?_

It had taken him only a few astroseconds to formulate a new plan, and now he wanted to be rid of Secretary.

The Prime lifted his face towards Teletraan; he had other options if this woman refused. "I will ask you one last time, do are you willing to help?"

Hernandez answered almost immediately. "The United States has a strict policy of non-negotiation with terrorists and the Decepticons are classified as terrorists."

Optimus expected this. The policy made sense on some levels and enacting it allowed the humans a way out, yet still maintain an alliance with the Autobots. His anger flared anyways, sometimes logic and protocol needed to be ignored to do what needed to be done. A long, costly war had taught him much.

"Then you should reevaluate which governments your country deems allies." With that parting shot, Optimus punched a single button and severed to communications link with Secretary Hernandez. Teletraan's screen went dark for an astroseconds, and then pale glyphs scrolled across the display.

"Now what?" asked Ironhide.

"We contact Sam," answered Prowl.

Optimus nodded. It didn't surprise him that his tactician already figured out the next mode of recourse. Prowl had probably figured it out long before he had.

_**XxxX**_

Sam's fingers curled tightly around his cell phone as he walked quickly down the hallway. With his other hand he used his knuckle to rub the sleep from his eye.

A blue grass twang singing, "I'm looking at the world through a windshield..." had rocketed him from the dead of slumber to fully awake, though somewhat stunned and slightly confused and. He had fumbled for his cell phone and muttered a soft, "Hello," into the receiver.

Optimus had asked a favor of him, and now, he had a mission to help save a life.

His bare feet padded softly on the frigid linoleum, and Sam wished that he had taken the time to at least pull on his socks. The cold made his feet hurt, and the muscles in his arches threatened to cramp. Goosebumps raised the hairs on his arms, but he couldn't say if the chill or the strain in the Prime's that caused them.

He slipped down the hallway and his pants legs slapped at his shins. Haste hurried him onward. He turned a corner, and didn't bother to wave at the guard on duty as he trotted to Simmons's room.

He ran a hand through his rumpled, oily hair, vaguely remembering that he needed a shower.

Placing his free hand on the door knob, and turned it, wincing against the impending high squeak. The door announced his presence to all within earshot. Stepping inside the room, he noticed that a different nurse sat at the desk in the corner. A petite blonde, with severely short hair, glared at him as he entered. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"What are you doing in here?" she hissed quietly, standing as she spoke.

Sam ignored her and moved to the side of the Simmons's bed. The bright lights cast a deathly pallor over the agent's skin. His bruises and scrapes stood out, purple-red and swollen. To Sam, he looked worse than they had just a few hours ago.

A steel-hard hand grabbed Sam's arm at the elbow, dull nails dug into his flesh. He turned to see the woman standing beside him, her hand wrapped around him in a vice-like grip. Peevish annoyance glittered in her eyes.

"I asked you a question."

Sam yanked his arm free and quickly looked her over. He struggled between the respect he immediately felt for the uniform she wore and exasperation with the attitude she gave him. Tired, stressed and worn thin, he was not in a mood to play games. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and he wanted to scream, but he didn't. "I know this man," he stated calmly, "and he might be able to help a friend."

The nurse was a good head shorter than him, and he stepped into her space, glaring down at her. "I have been directed by Optimus Prime to ask Simmons a simple question. That is it. If you have issues with that take them up with someone else. I'm tired. I'm pissed, and I'm trying to help. Now back off and give me a second." His words held a tone and strength that surprised even him.

The woman didn't move, she returned his angry glare with one of her own, and hooked her hands on her hips. "Right now, this patient is under my watch and if you so much as increase his heart rate, I will personally see to it that you are confined to your wife's room and not allowed to wonder around."

Sam rolled his eyes, so she knew who he was. Then she should know that he had saved the world, killed Megatron and hung out with alien robots. He had met scarier things than her. "Fine. Whatever. You don't have to be such a bitch," he snapped.

The nurse's pale skin flushed red, then purple. Fire flashed in her pale eyes, and Sam reevaluated his opinion of what constituted "scary".

He held up his hands as a gesture of platitude, but also to defend himself if need be. "I shouldn't have said that, but right now things aren't going well. The Decepticons have attacked and taken one of the other Autobots, Mickey and I have been shoved off here for our own safety, I'm not sure if my son will be born healthy or even live. I'm stressed, and I need to try and talk to Simmons. This'll only be a minute. Two questions, tops. I promise. Then I won't bother either of you again..." He made a crossing motion over his chest.

The nurse didn't say anything, but the color in her face remained a violent scarlet.

Sam took that as a cue to proceed. He turned back to Simmons, and leaned over the battered and busted man. Carefully he tapped the agent's shoulder, and prayed that there wasn't an injury there. "Hey. Hey can you hear me?"

Simmons didn't respond. The agent lay unresponsive, only the soft beeps of the machines surrounding them suggested that he might even be alive.

Sam patted him again. "Come on. The Big Bot has a question for you. He needs some information and thinks you are the only one who can help." Sam wanted to appeal to the man's enormous ego, hoping that would cut through the miasma of unconsciousness. "Come on Reggie, the 'bots need you. Only you can help them."

Simmons's stiffened; eyelids fluttered, and then opened, briefly the white sciera showed. Then, the agent sank back into the mattress.

"Awe, shit." breathed Sam. He patted the Special Agent's shoulder again, trying to pull him back.

Nothing.

Simmons didn't stir.

"He isn't going to respond." the woman snapped tersely. "The most he does is mumble when the pain meds start wearing off. Then, he is incoherent at best."

Sam straitened, his mouth pressed into a grim frown. Glancing at the nurse standing next to him, shame overcame him, chagrined that he called the woman a bitch and took his frustrations out on her.

He swallowed what little pride he had left. "Is there any way that the doctors might let him wake up so I can talk to him?"

The woman shook her head to the negative. "He is typically combative when he starts coming to, so they keep him heavily sedated." She checked a couple of the tubes trailing from the patient to a machine. Without looking at Sam, she snarled, "Are you done now?"

Silently, Sam turned and exited the room, his cell phone still gripped in his hand. Failure sank his heart to the pit of his stomach.

He walked along the hallway until he found a quiet alcove and leaned against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, his thumb on the redial, afraid to push the button. He squeezed his eyes shut, and took two long breaths.

He made the call.

Almost instantly, the Prime responded. "Sam." The deep voice flowed from the phone.

Sam opened his eyes, and shifted, curling his body into the alcove, turning away from the empty hall. His jaw working, but he couldn't say the words. He inhaled and exhaled sharply, then rubbed his eyebrows with his free hand.

"Optimus, I... I couldn't get the information. Simmons isn't..." He couldn't go on.

A long, heavy silence consumed any conversation.

Finally, the Prime spoke. "Thank you, Sam. I know you tried." The disappointment echoed over the connection.

He wanted to say something, tell the Autobot leader that he would try again. He choked out a weak, "I'm sorry."

The hallow nothing of a dead line echoed back at him. Optimus had ended the connection.

Sam thumped his head against the wall, and the last few days crashed down on him. A strangled sob lodged in his throat. Hot tears burned his eyes, and a few spilled onto his cheeks. He had let Optimus down. He couldn't help his friend. He couldn't help the Autobots, he couldn't help Mikaela and he couldn't help his baby son. He couldn't help anyone.

Nothing he did mattered.

For a few fleeting moments, he thought he would be of some good; he thought he could do more than just sit back and watch. So many things had been taken out of his hands and thrown to chance, he just wanted to be able to assist... aid... he just wanted to do more than watch helplessly as those he loved suffered.

_**XxxX**_

**A/N:** OMG! It has been 8 months since I updated! I am sorry. My only excuse is a class with 24 research papers due, I was all written out. Passed, it's over. Now I have more time to tinker with HOTF. Woot. I have been carrying around this chapter for most of that time and I doubt it will be any better than it is now. I have looked at this for so long I can't see the trees for the forest… so to speak. This is posted as is, I need to move forward with the story.

To **LuckySock:** You know I can't give any spoilers. You will just have to wait and see. To **Sayomi178**: Yes, there are spelling and grammar mistakes. Sadly, I can kill a beta with the work load. I am glad you like the stories though. To **Riah Riddle**: I am glad you love the stories. I know I haven't written much. Long story short, I am juggling work, family and getting my master's degree. Sometimes I barely have time to bathe. I do re read for grammar and spelling, but they do slip by me. I wish I was as good as my friends in this department, but both those have always been my weak areas. Feel free to point any major issues out, I always welcome concrit. **To Prime Deception**: Thank you so much for saying that. I am a firm believer that OCs don't have to be Sues, self inserts or boring. **To FORD B**: Thank you. I promise, Velocity will have her revenge. To **bRamble Girl**: Thank you so much. Your words made me giggle like a little girl. **To KaiH:** Thank you. I totally agree. If humans could experience the raw unfiltered emotions of others, things would be vastly different. As it is we are stuck in our bodies and can only hazard a poor guess at what others feel and think. **To Femme Fatality**: Thank you. Here is the update. Optimus wants e and Velocity to have a telepathic communication (he did so with Elita) The issue is Velocity, being first of flesh she has issues with their closeness and can't accept him in her head. Without realizing it, she blocks him out. This will be touched on later in the story, so that is all makes sense. **To phoebe turner:** Thank you again**. To Starfire201**: Oh there will be gobs of backstabbing and intrigue in the future. Decepticons can't function any other way. **To Femme4jack:** *glomp* Oh, OP is the Prime for more than his deep voice and calm wisdom. He is a bada$$, when he needs to be. **To Animelover1993.** Germany! What are you doing there? I am flattered that you keep reading this over and over. I have started rewriting FS, I want it to match HOTF a bit closer, and that was my first fanfic in decades. Here is an update, I am sorry it took so long to get it here. Please enjoy. **To all the other readers**, thank you for hanging in there. The Favs and watches mean tons to me and make me smile as much as the comments. Thank you from the depth of my little twisted heart. VB


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